<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Whumptober 2020: Good Omens by MostFacinorous</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762380">Whumptober 2020: Good Omens</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous'>MostFacinorous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:40:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,656</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With the intent to update every day of October, this is Whumptober 2020: The Good Omens edition.<br/>Each chapter will be a short little tidbit that builds on those before it to create a full story by end of month.<br/>(I do admittedly have a bad habit of turning these into something closer to angstober, instead.)</p><p>Takes place in a handwavy world somewhere before the show.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Let's Hang Out Sometime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Over the course of human history, Aziraphale had found himself in a pickle or three, but this one might just take the cake for sheer discomfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, certainly, there’d been ropes and chains and whatnot, sometimes for hobbyist purposes and sometimes not, but he didn’t think he’d ever woken in such a state before. Primarily because he rarely-to-never slept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, as he came to, mind swimming to consciousness as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of his current location, he found himself locked down and tied up-- ropes around his hands, tied above his head, his fingers trapped in cages that prevented his gesturing or snapping himself free. There were chains around his ankles that affixed to the floor, and his poor head and shoulders ached something fierce, and worse yet-- he realized that his thoughts of cake and pickles had only aggravated his groaningly empty stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was forced, then, to remember that whomever had knocked him out and put him into this predicament had done so when he was on his way to meet Crowley for lunch-- which meant he’d missed at least two, possibly three meals by now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if being bound against his will hadn’t made him cross enough, missing meals, and worse, one of his periodic-at-best meals with his best friend nee enemy? He was feeling positively righteous with fury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was clear minded enough to be aware-- and grateful!-- of the fact that the iron that held him wasn’t burning him, so it wasn’t hell made, nor was there any discernible power in his bindings. Just plain old human make. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was… reassuring, to a point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello? I think there’s been a mistake.” He called out, in the same annoyed but attempting to be reasonable tone that he often levelled at those who had the gall to think they could </span>
  <em>
    <span>buy</span>
  </em>
  <span> his books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you now?” A voice answered, and a human stepped into his field of view, the lights, or lack thereof, casting deep and sharp shadows over his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I most certainly do!” He came back, indignant now and not bothering to hide it. “I’m a bookseller, not a criminal! And I’ve no idea what you could possible want with--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Save your breath, </span>
  <em>
    <span>angel</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I know who and what you are-- and I know what Hell’ll pay for one of your kind. My name is Mathias, and I hunt down monsters, magick, and murderers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale pursed his lips, affronted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And which of those do you suppose I am?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little of column A, little of column B?” Mathias answered slyly. “Don’t worry, though. I understand Beelzebub is on their way to fetch you now-- my job’s done, save for keeping you here for the trade off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time since he’d awakened in this appalling situation, Aziraphale felt a cold spike of fear sliding through his gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, surely you would rather make a deal with an Angel than a prince of Hell. I can pay in human money, of course, but also in blessings-- protect you from any monsters you may encounter in the future, perhaps? Or… or I could give you something of an angelic IOU, good for one death bed healing, or the like.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was casting about somewhat desperately to find something that might appeal, without knowing much at all about his captor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind of you to offer, but I’m afraid this isn’t my first dance with the devils. You’re a little late.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>A roaring noise began, and Mathias cocked his head, then smiled. “But it seems Beelzebub is right on time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn you.” Aziraphale muttered, the words not quite capturing the emotions swirling within him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, it would have to do. A knock sounded on the door to the chamber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit late, as I said.” Mathias replied, then crossed to let in Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies, and Crowley’s Boss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked Aziraphale over and smiled, their low background buzzing growing louder when their lips parted, with horrific implications. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got ‘im.” They announced, seemingly to no one. “You love to see it.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. In the Hands of the Enemy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>No one in their right mind would call a trip to hell ‘pleasant’, and Aziraphale’s was worse than most-- in part because he was accompanied by a Prince of Hell, in part because the demonic power rolling off of the place was enough to make his eyes sting and water-- but the worst part of the process was the attention they drew, and the crowd that grew around them, until he finally set foot in Satan’s throne room, surrounded by jeering, jostling, howling, screaming demons, devils, imps, and all manner of unpleasant characters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As far as he knew, he was the first angel to stand here, before the throne of Hell, before Satan himself. And Aziraphale was worried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could scarcely imagine what the heavenly host would do to a demon if their roles were reversed, and Hell could only be worse than that, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hunger was forgotten under the weight of his fear, and standing oddly stark in the foreground of his mind was the thought that Crowley didn’t know why he hadn’t come. He hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow that regret was stronger than allowing himself to be captured in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gag that he’d been forced into when Beelzebub had grown tired of his nattering was peeled away, and Aziraphale worked his jaw, stalling for time while he tried to decide the best tack for handling whatever this was meant to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His execution, he supposed, at best. His torture on the worse side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Principality Aziraphale,” Satan spoke, greeting him politely and apparently well informed as to who he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Satan.” Aziraphale responded, warily and waiting for the other shoe to drop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would apologize for the rudeness, but I’m afraid it was quite necessary.” Satan informed him, tone apologetic but words frank and expression unbothered. “You see, I have need of your help-- I need your judgement.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale blinked, taken fully aback by this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Judgement in what way?” He asked, cautious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know how She responds to betrayal, as that’s how we got here, but have rarely had call to contemplate our own response… until now. We have two demons, each calling the other traitor, each calling for the other’s blood. No evidence, no proof. Only their word of one another’s wrong doing. How would you proceed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there… any reason to believe there is a betrayal?” Aziraphale asked carefully. “What I mean,” he continued, warming to the line of thought, “Is if there’d no proof, then that would mean there’s no effect-- a betrayal that changes nothing, that’s not really a betrayal, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satan stared for a moment and then laughed, loud and hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell that to God!” He said finally, and Aziraphale inhaled, realizing he’d misstepped something fierce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides-- we know there’s someone from down here doing miracles to help humans, from time to time. We just don’t know who it is. So if these two both claim it’s the other, seems to me there’s a fifty-fifty chance of punishing the right one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale paled, suddenly sure he knew exactly who the culprit was, and hoping desperately that Crowley wasn’t here to be judged, let alone by him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… Can I meet them? Maybe I can sense a lie, if one of them is lying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And here, Satan grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re going to meet them, alright. Really, I expected you to say that we should just smite them both-- but it seems angels are more prone to talking these days, rather than action. No matter. Your judgement will be delivered in an arena, with a sword. Kill one, whichever-- I don’t care-- or be killed. This is my ruling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s jaw dropped, and he found himself being dragged away, amidst a crushing sea of noise and stinking, slimy bodies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was being used as an executioner-- or a gladiator. And for all he’d hoped that Crowley had no place in this, having him at his back would be better than fighting two to one. He doubted any other demon would put an angel before their kin-- feud or no. But still, he hoped Crowley was back on earth and none the wiser-- safely far from all of this.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. My Way or the Highway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale was outfitted accordingly-- that is to say, the pageantry that Satan had prepared was every bit as much for show as it was for the practical fight itself, and so they forced Aziraphale into a fitting room where he was all but torn out of his clothing and stuffed unceremoniously into a white toga. A helmet that had clearly been painted gold with spray acrylic was jammed atop his head, and he was handed a sword, then left alone in the little room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment he was, he did his best to try calling for help, but either Heaven couldn’t hear him or wasn’t answering-- at any rate, no response came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He straightened the ridiculous costume as best as he could, and paced a bit, anxious and unable to prepare in the slightest without any idea of who he might be fighting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear the distant sound of what seemed like war horns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was odd, how incredibly old-fashioned all of this felt. Heaven had not only embraced humanity’s futurism, but had built upon it, moving on to the sleek minimalism of a mac commercial after their previous trappings of gilt and nouveau. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hell on the other hand looked like the miserably off-casts of a 90s workplace situational comedy, and from what he could tell, their idea of justice went even further back than that, to something gladiatorial and barbaric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only hoped they didn’t sic hellhounds on him afterwards, the way the Romans would sometimes reward a winner they didn’t care for with wild predators. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t given much time to ponder on that, though; the door of the room opened and he was taken brusquely by the shoulders by two large demons, each dragging him wordlessly out and towards the noise that he could hear in the distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be more than happy to walk, if you’d only point the way!” He offered, feet stumbling over themselves in the process of trying to keep up with and walk between the two guards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One immediately yanked him free of the other’s grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaddup.” It snarled, before slamming him face first into the nearest wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His nose made contact with an appallingly damp poster imploring the reader not to lick the walls, and he shuddered to think what it was his blood was now mingling with, there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he was pulled back and up and forced to move forward, even as he felt the blood running down his chin to drip on his formerly pristine toga. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another set of double doors opened as they approached and he was hauled upwards, so that his feet dangled off the floor, then bodily hurled outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He landed on all fours in the volcanic dust, the evil of it seeping into his newly skinned knees and making them burn worse than they already had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting shakily up, he grabbed his sword and stood, careful to project fear and uncertainty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know who he was going to be facing, nor how strong they might be, but he knew that being underestimated would only benefit him, in the long run. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another discordant blast of horns sounded, and two doors opened opposite him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the first stepped a creature who looked barely human-- so far removed from the angel it once had been that it had become something almost altogether animal, and wrong enough that the power of hell emanated from it in soft, nauseating waves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the other door stepped Crowley, and Aziraphale felt his heart lurch into his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stopped abruptly, apparently surprised to see him there, and Aziraphale nearly flushed, though he doubted anyone would notice past the golden blood on his face. He must look a right tit to him, given how fashionably he was dressed-- as always. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you’ve brought forth my old enemy,” Crowley yelled, turning to face the crowd behind him, who cheered and jeered. “I’m not sure if that’s meant to put me at a disadvantage or at an advantage, but either way, it seems awfully unfair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale realized immediately what Crowley was trying to do, and he felt a swelling in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bless the demon, he was trying to get them to let him walk free, even knowing that he was endangering himself further by robbing himself of an ally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave it.” The other growled. “I’ll kill him, then you, and prove finally who ought to be let loose on the mortals.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale cringed-- not only at how neatly the creature before him had foiled Crowley’s plans, but also at the mere idea of it haunting the streets of London, causing real harm to any human it came across. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His resolve firmed. They had to stop that from happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the way, Crowley seemed to agree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your grave.” He told his demon competitor, before turning back towards Aziraphale. “Guess we’re doing this, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I suppose we are.” Aziraphale responded, nearly under his breath. But he readied himself, raised his sword, and ran for the demon he didn’t know. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Running Out of Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The fight was, predictably, an incredibly messy affair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angel blood, it turned out, was nearly as good as holy water. But of course, they’d learned the hard way, when their opponent got hold of Aziraphale’s sword and gouged down the length of his arm with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, in turn, sent demon blood spurting in his direction, and that, unfortunately, had a similar effect on Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley, of course, thinking fast, had used the sword to fling angelic blood straight into the other demon’s eyes, and then had driven the sword into his neck and out the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, of course, had brought him to his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, blinded and dying, he’d used the last of his strength to turn his hands into giant fists, and slam them against the volcanic pitch of the arena. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twice, thrice he banged against the ground, and a crack began to form just as he slumped over, well and truly defeated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panting, Aziraphale and Crowley stood together, and looked up and outwards, waiting for Satan to call an end to the fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well? Are neither of you going to finish it?” He demanded, his voice loud enough to echo throughout the place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about it, my lord: if we kill an angel now--” Crowley shouted, but his voice was lost in the ensuing din. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All around them, the demons were stomping, shouting, banging on the walls that separated them. They were all calling for Aziraphale’s blood, and he knew suddenly, with a sinking certainty, that he was not getting out of this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale made as if he was trying to get the sword from Crowley’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do it.” He hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley blinked. “Wha--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kill me. Do it. If you discorporate me now, I’ll probably come right back, no harm, no foul-- it’s better than whatever they have planned.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jerked his head towards the increasingly angry horde that was beginning to try to scale the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s hand began to shake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can and will, my dear. Here.” Aziraphale reached for the hand holding the sword, intending to lift it and drive himself upon it, but Crowley stumbled backwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tripped over the body of the large demon, and landed, hard, on his skinny rump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would have been almost comical, were they not in danger, and if the ground beneath him didn’t begin to fall away rather rapidly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley!” Aziraphale called, lunging forward. The dead demon shifted beneath his feet, and then they were falling, and Aziraphale could see below them a pool of sulfur. No doubt the very same one that factored into Crowley’s stories of his fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale spread his wings, then tucked them into a dive, speeding along until he had Crowley safely in his grasp. He spread them, redirected their fall, and landed them safely on a ledge, several feet above the molten liquid. They watched together as the body fell into it and quickly became little more than a dark mark against the heat of the roiling lake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shuddered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Overhead, the cracks began to close. Satan, apparently thinking that the match was over, was sealing them in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, if it wasn’t yet, it would be over soon enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pool below released a gaseous scent that couldn’t be good for their lungs, and polluted what little air they were left with. It was completely dark now, the milky water below the only sound besides their own labored breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. I didn’t have to stab you at least.” Crowley sounded resigned, and Aziraphale squeezed whatever part of him he’d managed to grab onto during their fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you get out of this? You said that demons rise up through the earth on assignment. Surely the same process would grant you freedom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shrugged-- Aziraphale could feel the movement and adjusted his grip from arm to shoulder, accordingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but to what end? If I go up there and don’t bring proof of killing you, they’re just gonna know I’m working with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Aziraphale reached for a miracle and tugged, summoning a light and looking between them. “Oh, I’ve bled on you-- you’d best heal that up.” He did the same, mending his own leaking corporation. “So this-- you’re expected to discorporate and show back up for another body, is that right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shrugged again. “Dunno. Prob’ly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then, all of this is at worst a --passing --unpleasantness.” Aziraphale was beginning to feel short of breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except imagine what happens-- you go back to heaven...they ask how you got discorporated. Cause of death? --Kidnapped to hell and forced to battle-- unfair odds. Heaven’s not gonna take that-- too kindly, are they?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear. No, I suppose they won’t. You think --Satan intends to start --the war back up again?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was listless, squirming around, and Aziraphale let his hand fall away to give him as much space as the ledge would afford for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno what He’s up to. Got all kinds of plans-- on the cooker, I imagine. That’s how He is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then.” Aziraphale looked upwards, then sent the light floating up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t much higher to go. For all they must have fallen about fifty feet, they’d sealed much more than that up. There was perhaps ten feet between the tops of their heads and the ceiling of the small cave. And the air was quickly becoming thick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It-- ah-- behooves us-- to get out of here. With my corporation-- intact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I c’n, maybe--” he patted the wall beside him. “The trick with going up, but-- sideways a bit first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had some very serious concerns around the lack of air while tunneling through underground, but at least they would be away from the sulfuric smell and the humid heat of the pool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lead the way.” He said instead, refusing to do anything that might undermine Crowley’s courage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded and took a deep breath-- or tried, instead coughing and spluttering. He continued gasping even as he changed his appearance-- flattening his features down so that he looked… not exactly halfway between snake and man; Aziraphale had seen him in that state, and this lacked the scales, but… certainly more smooth. Aziraphale held his tongue and did not comment on his distaste for the form; it would be rude and he was certain he wouldn’t pull it off any better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Crowley was pressing into the ground and creating a tunnel that he-- well, slithered through, for lack of better term. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale wondered why he didn’t just become a snake, and then, realizing that even with his nose and ears tucked in, his girth made following Crowley a bit difficult, he did precisely that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made things much easier. His lungs were smaller, and he undulated in the direction of his friend, able to achieve a reasonably fast clip once he’d got the hang of it.  This didn’t stop the ground itself from stinging at him, though. It was so soaked through with evil and unhallowedness that it felt a bit like being buried in hot coals-- only he was swimming through them, so the added friction was… even less pleasant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been right though; the problem with air caught up just the same, and he was disoriented. He didn’t know whether they’d even turned ‘up’ yet, or which way up was for that matter, and the lack of air was making his corporation light headed and panicky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt himself slowing, and just as he thought they’d run completely out of luck, he saw-- not light precisely, but less dark, and then Crowley was pulling himself up and out and Aziraphale gasped in what felt like his first full breath in ages. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Where Do You Think You're Going?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If the journey into hell had been bad, Aziraphale hadn’t accounted for how awful the journey through hell would be. Once he’d regained the topside of the ground, as well as his usual shape, he found himself to be turned quite red with burns from the journey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found himself wondering, vaguely, if this was where that quaint red Faustian Mephistopheles design had gotten its roots-- had all of the demons looked like this, upon being cast out? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was a subject for a philosophical chat over wine, late into an evening when Crowley was more open to discussing their differences. It was not a distraction to be pandered to now, as Crowley did his best to sneak both of them up and out of hell without being seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was doing his best not to whine or moan about his corporation. He’d considered just healing it and being done with it, but it occurred to him that he blended in a little better this way. True he didn’t have a creature on his head, but then, neither did Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if that made him unfashionable, for a demon, and if that was perhaps part of why he went so far out of his way to be fashionable for a human. But again, thoughts-- and conversations-- for later. Supposing there was one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley tugged him with him into a crowded corridor, doing his best to act as a buffer between other demons and Aziraphale. Not just out of concern for his poor burned skin, Aziraphale realized, but because contact with him would be a dead giveaway as to who and what he was. There was enough demonic energy in this hall to nauseate him, but he hoped that meant there was also enough to dilute his own holiness and keep it down to a reasonably unnoticeable level. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It quickly became clear that wasn’t working; with every jostling elbow, a head would turn unerringly towards him, and Aziraphale could feel himself paling under the scrutiny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see them. Keep walking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley spoke quickly, but didn’t let any of his fear make it into his voice, and Aziraphale wondered if the tales were true-- could demons smell fear? If so, he must be positively ripe with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale turned his head, but Crowley propelled him forward. “Go, damn you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi, Crawley, where you taking that angel?” The other demon shouted, and Aziraphale winced, partially from the words and partially at the way Crowley’s hand tightened around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of your business.” Crowley snarled. “We’ve dealings with Satan.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, the crowds before them parted, and Satan stood, his arms crossed, some ten yards ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You certainly do.” He said, sounding amused. “This way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned and walked away, and none dared to get in their way-- but they wouldn’t let them go any other direction, either. Aziraphale reached up to wrap his hand around Crowley’s where it gripped his arm, offering silent and hollow comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed they weren’t going to make it out of here after all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Please</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You should know that there’s no real reason for me to keep you on Earth.” Satan started, leaning back into his desk chair while Crowley and Aziraphale hovered on the other side of the desk, too nervous to sit without being invited, and half certain they should be bolting-- though the probability of that doing much good was next to none. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beg Pardon?” Crowley asked, glasses slipping down his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could send operatives up on individual missions-- and, as you know, I do. There’s no real need for you to remain up there full time. It’s been… I guess you’d call it an experiment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shuddered, his stomach cramping with the waves of unholiness coming off of Satan. Being stuck in a room with him, even so large and well appointed as his office was… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what sort of experiment? What were you hoping to learn?” He asked, cross from his discomfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satan tilted his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about power. Adaption. Being that much closer to heaven, how it would affect a demon long term. You know, no one else can wait to get back down here from being top side. You, though--  getting you to report is like pulling teeth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a careless hand wave, Crowley bent double, his mind filled with the sensation of having his teeth removed, none too gently, in the same manner that he generally received his orders. It took over all of his senses and made it so he couldn’t think of anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get it out!” He begged, and Aziraphale didn’t know what it was, or how he could help. He watched Crowley fall to his knees and only barely stopped himself from going to his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he levelled Satan with as unimpressed a glare as he could manage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what are you trying to prove? It’s an experiment, you said? Then you made him what he is, and punishing him for it is missing the true culprit. So stop.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satan waved his hand again and Crowley stayed where he was, panting as his head began to clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, but that’s just the thing, isn’t it? We, the fallen, fell because we were annoyed that humans had something we lacked: free will, the ability to choose. And we were given it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you took it away.” Crowley snarled, climbing back to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I created a comfortably familiar system to restrict the free will we’d had dumped on our heads like ice water. It kept half of demon-kind from going more mad than they already were from the long trip down. But you-- you grabbed onto it with both hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny that-- wanting something, sacrificing everything for it, and being glad when you get it. You’d think more of us might have adapted better.” Crowley sounded almost casual, but Aziraphale knew him well enough to know he was shaking in the boots he wasn’t actually wearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” Satan pressed on, “Angels. They’re not meant to have free will, are they? You’re supposed to be Obedient. Loyal. And yet you choose him-- and you have done, over and over again, haven’t you? Why do you think it is you haven’t fallen yet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satan directed his gaze and words at Aziraphale, who swallowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do my work, and I get results. I think-- I think perhaps that’s enough, these days. Perhaps…” He trailed off. He’d meant to say that perhaps heaven had gotten more lax over time, or that perhaps She was paying less attention, but where he might say as much to an informed human without a second thought, saying it to Satan felt downright blasphemous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps they just don’t know about it, is that what you think? And how do you expect to explain what’s happened here to them, if you return?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t tell them. Heaven, they don’t need to know.” Crowley interjected, and Aziraphale could hear the desperation in his voice. “You’d start the war, the big one, and it’s too soon, yeah? Not all the pieces are on the board yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satan hummed thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m usually not. So-- let us go back to how things’ve been. I do what you say, with flair, and he does what he’s got to, and you can keep watching how humanity… evolves us, or whatever it is you’re looking for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satan turned toward Aziraphale, who was watching Crowley and no doubt unable to hide his admiration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what do you say?” Satan asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale didn’t even pause to think, the answer that heaven expected to that question popping out of his mouth of its own accord.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satan threw back his head and laughed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. I've Got You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>By the time they made it out of Hell, Aziraphale was limping, his feet feeling mangled beyond fixing, his miracles too weak now to heal himself any further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was exhausted, in more than one sense, and he was leaning heavily on Crowley to make it the rest of the way to the damned escalators that would take them home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Crowley, unbless him, wasn’t making a single peep of protest. He bore the burden that Aziraphale presented with an impressively British stiff upper lip, considering they’d both been around long before Britain had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale hoped he didn’t blame himself for their predicament, but at the moment he could only focus on getting home, stopping the pain, and finally getting a cup of tea in him, at the very least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d have to check in on the state of their respective minds later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Up we get, now Angel. Just a few more steps, and I can call us a cab.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale groaned, and immediately regretted it. He saw the way the sound made Crowley wince sympathetically and reminded himself of the likelihood that Crowley was blaming and hating himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These damned sandals.” Aziraphale grumbled. “If I’d only been allowed to keep my perfectly good shoes--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stopped suddenly and dropped to his knees to all but rip the shoes from Aziraphale’s feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tossed them angrily away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, Aziraphale. Here--” He snapped and produced shoes that, for some reason, hurt less. And then Aziraphale realized: damned sandals indeed. They’d been made in hell, by hell. And Crowley was, as Satan had noted, not fully of hell. Not anymore, maybe not ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright Crowley, thank you. If you hadn’t realized, who knows how long I would have kept them on!” He forced some cheer into his voice and clapped his hand against Crowley’s shoulder, as friends would do at a good joke. Though his hand stayed there, and he used it for balance for the next few steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was in such pain, he hadn’t even realized he was still actively being burned. Removing the cause helped, but it didn’t reverse the damage, and so, by the time he was able to slide into the back seat of a cab, his poor feet were pulsing within his shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drifted off on the ride back to the shop, and Crowley had to help him out and up the steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated this, feeling weak as a kitten and unable to fully rouse himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley ran his palm soothingly over Aziraphale’s curls, though, and murmured soft sounds that he didn’t think were words, and didn’t understand if they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we are. Let’s get you into bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale might, in other circumstances, have protested-- his bed was covered in books, he was covered in ash and dirt and dried blood, but just now… oh, just now, bed sounded heavenly. Better than that, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have you.” He heard Crowley saying, and he smiled. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Trust his Earth-long enemy to have his back at all times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let his eyes slip shut.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Where Did Everybody Go?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Aziraphale awoke, he was feeling somewhat better. Rather a lot, in fact. At least mentally. Physically, he was sore, and tired, his muscles protesting use they’d not seen in decades, and his stomach rumbling from neglect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his feet-- He gave another miracle a go and winced at the sensation-- like a rubber band being snapped against the inside of his skull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More rest first, then. And perhaps some seeing to of the demon, who’d done all of the care taking up until this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, and reached out with his more angelic senses to figure out where Crowley had slunk off to-- but he wasn’t in the shop. He was near, though. Nearish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale lay back and closed his eyes, feeling around for some context. He was hoping to find Crowley picking up some local delicacy, perhaps of the baked variety, but when he realized where Crowley was, his eyes shot open and he immediately stood on his protesting, painful feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jammed them into a pair of shoes the human way and threw a coat over the pyjamas he’d found himself in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No time for more; Crowley was at Our Lady of the Assumption and Saint Gregory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Aziraphale could only think of one reason for Crowley to go there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuddered, heartsick at the thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cab stopped for him and he all but babbled the address. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright, mate? You don’t need a hospital instead, do you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shook his head. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m fine, a friend is there in need is all. If you would?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The driver seemed to accept that, and Aziraphale realized that Crowley hadn’t said goodbye. He’d taken off for the nearest Catholic Church and hadn’t left so much as a note. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>abandoned</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale. Or he had tried. Aziraphale wouldn’t let him go through with it. Couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to get there in time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The church was all but empty when he arrived. Two or three humans were around-- Aziraphale could feel them, saw them at a distance, but paid them no mind. They weren’t the most important thing, right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most important thing was Crowley, standing up near the front of the church, shifting restlessly on his feet, much as he’d done the last time Aziraphale had seen him in a church. He could only wince in sympathy. His feet still hurt from a similar experience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strode forward, in as much as he could stride, and was well aware he looked like a mad man, half dressed at best, no doubt still dirty and mussed looking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley!” He called out, and Crowley turned, mouth dropping open. The priest who stood with him was suddenly revealed to be holding something-- and it knocked the air out of Aziraphale’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bottle of holy water, glass and breakable. And Crowley had been reaching out to take it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel, what--” Crowley asked, as Aziraphale snatched it from the human’s hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, I must ask that you return that!” He sputtered, obviously appalled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s alright-- it was for him anyway.” Crowley spoke quickly, with a soothing hand gesture thrown in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For… me?” Aziraphale repeated, heart in his throat and beating wildly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley glanced down significantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we have this conversation outside?” He asked gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, yes of course. My apologies father, I think there’s been some kind of… misunderstanding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held tightly to the bottle of holy water as they shuffled out into the London daylight, and Crowley took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dunno how you made it all that way, if down there felt anything like in there.” Crowley said, breaking the tense silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, why were you here? Is this-- what did you mean, for me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For your feet.” Crowley elaborated. “To help them heal. I didn’t know if you’d feel well enough to make your own. Really, I didn’t-- I’m not…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you’d abandoned me, I thought you were trying to leave me,” Azirapahle could feel tears rising, his face flushing, and his voice dropped to a plaintive whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t leave me like that, please. I couldn’t-- oh, Crowley, I couldn’t bear it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley took either side of his face in extraordinarily gentle hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Angel. I would never. You know us, we don’t say goodbye.” He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. “Now let’s get you home, get you a nice foot soak, maybe order some takeaway. You’ll feel better soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That sounded good to Aziraphale, and he said as much. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. For the Greater Good</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale had insisted on soaking his feet in the tub on his own, first because the bathroom was small enough that having two adult man sized creatures in it was a trial at best, and second because there was no chance that he was letting Crowley get any closer to holy water than he had to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The result of this was Crowley pacing outside of the bathroom on the small landing, trying to keep up a conversation, while Aziraphale tried to keep in the little noises of discomfort that threatened to find their way out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet were blistered and burned, crispy in a way he’d never thought he’d be able to apply the word to his corporation, and altogether unpleasant to look at or be attached to. The water did help, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking maybe Chinese? How would you feel about that? Or we could go with the fancy French place, if you’re feeling something a little more celebratory…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, maybe sushi?” Aziraphale called back. “Though to be ah--” he shifted his foot, attempting to twist around and call over his shoulder, and it bumped against the edge of the tub, sending pain rocketing up his leg. “--Honest!” He forced out, quickly breathing in through his nose before continuing in as normal a voice as he could muster, “Anything sounds good just now. I leave it in your very capable hands, dear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head up and gazed at the ceiling, but did not allow even the impression of a prayer to form. They certainly didn’t need the attention, just at the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought had no sooner formed than he heard the bell over the door downstairs jangling, and heard Gabriel calling out for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello? Aziraphale? I just got your message-- came as soon as I could!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had no idea what he meant, then recalled his frantic prayer for help in the demonic dressing chamber. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awh shit.” He heard Crowley say from in the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastily, Aziraphale pulled the stopper and drained the tub, drying his feet quickly before he opened the bathroom door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to my room and stay there quietly.” He instructed Crowley, before gingerly making his way to the top of the stairs. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Aziraphale, there you are.” Gabriel did not look pleased to see him, even if he sounded it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, here I am-- sorry, found myself in a spot of trouble a bit ago, but it sorted itself out in the end. Ran into a couple of demons up to no good-- they gave me a bit more fight than I was used to.” He lifted his burned foot as demonstration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good lord, man, you mean to say they used hellfire on you? And you’re still here to tell the tale?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nodded quickly, then shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, not directly, thank goodness, or I’d be quite gone. No, I ah-- well, I was just getting ready to write it up in a report, if you’d rather have it all in writing?” He knew he didn’t lie well, not quite so quick on his feet as all that, especially right now, when he was still recovering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, sure, that’s fine. And you handled it, eh? I have to say I’m impr--” Gabriel trailed off, then cocked his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale didn’t hear anything, but he felt his heart sink into his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, I think you’d better come down here.” Gabriel said, sounding stern, and Aziraphale wondered how much he knew-- and how. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- ah-- if you don’t mind, I’d rather not. Hard on the ol’ corporation, you know, heh heh…” He knew Crowley had to be listening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, now. Down here, now.” He could see Gabriel gathering his power, could see the faint outline of his wings, and he knew what would come next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, run!” he called out, ducking and heading further in, towards his bedroom. Crowley, idiot that he was, opened the door, just in time for Aziraphale to barrel into him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind them, the whole shop shook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights went out, and a crackling purple energy was the only source of light, climbing the stairs slowly, like a predator with its prey cornered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they were; the window was high up and too small to fit out of, and they weren’t exactly in any sort of shape to fly off. Besides, Gabriel could find either one of them-- there would be no outrunning him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, I think you have some explaining to do.” He bellowed, words ripping through the room like a physical blow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well you see,” Aziraphale began, untangling himself from Crowley and putting himself between the Archangel and the demon. “I mentioned how I’d run into a spot of trouble before, with the other demons, yes? Well… this demon in particular, my old arch enemy, Crowley-- you know him from past reports, of course--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale.” Gabriel said his name as if it was all the warning he needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes well, it seems the demons in question were ah-- feuding? With this one. And so we ah, we briefly set aside our differences, you know, to...d-defeat our common foes. And so--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>working with a demon</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Gabriel asked, clearly aghast. “And to think I was considering a commendation for you, handling hell fire-- But no, you made a deal with the devil to save your own skin. Despicable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi, maybe he wouldn’t have had to if your lot had actually been around when he called for help, huh?” Crowley snapped from behind Aziraphale’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, please!” Aziraphale groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s right-- clearly we’ve been remiss in your training. If you were so weak you couldn’t do your duty without the aid of your enemy, then it seems to me we need to get you back topside stat and work on that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale felt his shoulders slumping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” He said, chin nearly hitting his chest as he imagined the training that he had in store. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just as soon as I put an end to this nuisance once and for all.” Gabriel concluded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Aziraphale asked, head jerking back up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s been causing problems here on Earth since the days of the garden, yeah? I always wondered why you didn’t just get rid of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because he can be bargained with, and because he feeds me the intelligence I pass on to you!” Aziraphale protested, spreading his wings to better shield the demon behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A turncoat demon?” Gabriel asked, standing down only a little, probably entirely out of surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not-- not exactly.” Crowley protested, parting the feathers of Aziraphale’s wings to look through them. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Look, not like I can go angel again, yeah? But I can help maintain a balance. That’s all. Not a fan of some of what my side does, not a fan of some of what your side does. But if you want to drag someone off for that, don’t take Aziraphale; he’s making the most of a bad situation. You wanna send a message to hell, you take me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Aziraphale protested, horrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heaven wasn’t likely to kill him; Crowley, on the other hand, had no such guarantees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do love a volunteer sacrificial-- what are you, some sort of lizard? No-- the serpent of eden, got it!” Gabriel snapped, both to signal his own brilliance and to trap Crowley in a neat little holy glass terrarium. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale watched in horror as the tank floated by, a fully serpentine Crowley writhing uncomfortably inside of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems like all three of us have some business to attend to in heaven, right Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked, and again, his name was a warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed and nodded, following along meekly. There was nothing else he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> do.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. They Look So Pretty When They Bleed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shortly after reaching heaven, Crowley had been forced back into his humanoid form and crucified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t hyperbole; they’d truly put up a cross and nailed the demon to it, then paraded him through their stark white halls and cramped little cubicles for all to see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For helping me?” Aziraphale had asked, though it had come out on a squeak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For being a traitor, first to heaven, then to hell. Loyalty is a virtue, Aziraphale. Betrayal is a sin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the worst of it was the way Gabriel had Aziraphale pulling him around, by a single rope tied to a simple cart that they’d loosened the wheels on to be intentionally ungentle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could be worse.” Crowley said, his voice above Aziraphale and over his shoulder, trying to remain encouraging. “The wood’s not blessed, at least.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was true enough; they’d had to send someone to Earth to go fetch planks for this purpose; nothing so imperfect as a naturally growing tree was allowed in heaven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t give anyone ideas.” Aziraphael muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Crowley shifted and hissed, and Aziraphale sighed. He could only assume he’d tried to shrug again, and inflicted yet more pain on himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale kept himself focused ahead, minding ceiling heights and trying to avoid making any sudden movements that would jerk Crowley around. It was the least he could do-- keep his friend in the air and out of contact with anything blessed or holy-- easier said than done, in heaven. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, he seems like he’s having an awfully good time, up there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale startled as Michael fell into step beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I can’t imagine that’s the case-- just being here has to be torture.” He assured her, wincing internally as she cast her gaze upwards and Crowley wiggled his fingers in a half wave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” She responded. “I suppose there are things we could do to fix that. Hang on a moment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stopped short and bit his lip at the sound of pain that came from above him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to face Crowley, entirely apologetic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much longer d’you think they’ll want to keep this up?” Crowley asked. “Only, Golden Girls is on in a bit, back on Earth and--” Crowley’s eyes slid to something behind Aziraphale and widened, fear lighting briefly on his face before he schooled it away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale turned, but too late to stop Michael from jamming a spear up and into Crowley’s ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There now, all we’re missing is the crown of thorns, and you’ll have the entire stigmata suite!” Michael’s words were chipper and encouraging, but her smile was entirely bloodthirsty, and her eyes cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanksss.” Crowley quipped on a gasp, even as he writhed as much as he could, the pain begetting more pain until he was exhausted, panting and bleeding out from his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful there,” Sandalphon said, sliding up beside Michael to admire her handiwork. “Their blood’s corrosive-- for both us and our weapons.” He held out a hand and took the spear away. “Though, of course, we have uses for it, when we get our hands on fresh demon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran his eyes up and down Aziraphale in a way that made him shudder, fear and revulsion briefly overriding his nausea and upset at the treatment of his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nearly through all of Heaven, now,” Aziraphale said, attempting to sound chipper, as if this wasn’t one of, if not the worst thing, he’d been forced to do in some time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nearly. We’re taking him to the Metatron’s chambers next-- that ought to be more fun. But you know us, gotta have a little pageantry first.” Gabriel clapped Aziraphale’s shoulder, and gestured that Aziraphale should get going again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale took a deep breath, hating that he could smell the blood that was pooling behind him, and started forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Michael,” He heard Gabriel saying cheerfully, “Got anyone you don’t particularly like? We’ll can put them on bucket duty-- looks like there’s going to be a bit of a trail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale felt tears of angry hopelessness prickling his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All good, Angel.” Crowley said. “Like you said below-- worse things worse, I just discorporate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale swallowed, and remembered what else he’d said-- what he’d begged Crowley to do. It would be easier on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I--” He started, but his voice broke, and a tear slid down his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would, if Crowley asked. He was just a coward for making him have to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could be worse,” Crowley said again, only this time he couldn’t hide the pain in his voice.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Psych 101</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I have good news for you.” The Metatron said, words heavy with purpose and import. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley knelt before the Voice of God, trembling with blood loss and discomfort. They’d finally let him down from the cross, though they’d bound his wrists together, like they thought he might take a swing at someone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which… maybe. If he wasn’t so damned exhausted, if his limbs didn’t feel so heavy. If it didn’t hurt so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pray tell…” He mumbled, about as defiant as he could be in the face of all of this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your mother…” The Metatron paused for effect. “Sends her love.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words struck him like he’d been branded, knocking him to his side as he began to writhe with the pain of it. It felt like angelic grace was trying to drill its way into his chest through his spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” He cried out. “No, She-- Damn her!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was overwhelming, the feelings of the physical assault atop the very real emotional anguish. It was like falling all over again, but in reverse, but there was no great change waiting at the end of it. He could feel it-- the way God’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> would kill him if he let it. He could feel the tears running down his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God didn’t love him when he was imperfect, and She had cast him out for asking questions. These were simple, basic facts. They hadn’t changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this?” He yelled, fighting back with exactly what he knew She had hated him for in the first place. “Is THIS your idea of grace, of forgiveness? Is this what love is to you, this pain?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was panting, out of words and running out of time. It felt like the light was piercing through his bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough!” He heard Aziraphale cry out, and then he felt his body settle atop Crowley’s, his wings stretching out to shield him from that inescapable light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the shadow of the Angel, Crowley was finally able to open his eyes again, and he lay there, panting and weak, destroyed by those five stupid words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell Her it’s too late.” Crowley croaked out. “She’s not getting me back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let his head fall, felt it hit the ground with a hollow thud that promised a headache when he woke up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he woke up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow that was a comforting thought. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. I Think I've Broken Something</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley wasn’t entirely certain where he was when he woke. He knew it was dark-- thank goodness-- and that the promised headache had, in fact, manifested itself. Beyond that… it still stung like Heaven, still smelled of cleaning products and lemon and sterility, but it also smelled of Aziraphale, which was at least somewhat comforting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel?” He croaked out, throat feeling like he’d been gargling gravel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here, Crowley.” The answer was instant, calm, and soothing. Crowley sighed. He didn’t want to ask any of the questions that he could feel bouncing around, rattling his already bruised skull, but he knew he would have to at some point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in Purgatory.” Aziraphale told him, before he could find the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I er-- rather upset the other angels. Made a bit of a proclamation, put you under my protection. They’re not allowed to go against that, by Her law, and so…” He shrugged, and some of the darkness fell away, Crowley realizing only then that he was shrouded in Aziraphale’s wings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright?” He asked, slowly understanding their situation, and the fact that he couldn’t see much of Aziraphale but his feathers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I-- you absolute idiot, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>fine. How are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Head hurts.” Crowley admitted. “I’m gonna sit up, move your wings.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shuffled them up and tucked them out of site, turning to face his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d clearly been crying, but there was no angel blood to be seen, no sign of any of the brutality that Crowley had experienced, and he let out a relieved sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t even sure you </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> heal here.” Aziraphale told him, apparently doing his own once over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Parently.” Crowley answered with a shrug that hurt considerably less now he wasn’t strapped to anything, or hanging by his extremities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So out with it, what’s the take away, here?” He met Aziraphale’s gaze squarely, demanding the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve broken their trust in me, and they are going to see if they can petition Her to-- to fell me. It hasn’t been done in ages, but… if it works, then my protection of you is null, and we can both be ah… gotten rid of.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was trying to keep calm, but he was obviously terrified. Because if it worked, he’d be Fallen, a demon, just like Crowley. He wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley couldn’t help but think that he should have just let them discorporate him, or kill him, or whatever it is they were trying to do. Now Aziraphale was in danger-- back in danger-- because of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Aziraphale, I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we do make it out of here, if I do… fall.” It obviously took a lot of effort to get the words out, and Aziraphale couldn’t look at him while he said it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t.” He interrupted, hating this line of thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I do.” Aziraphale repeated, more firmly, finally looking up and giving Crowley the most determined look he could muster, with watering eyes. “I don’t want you to come find me. I want you to keep your distance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gaped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing he could think of that would have made his fall easier is if he’d had a friend, someone who understood what was happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, you daft idiot, don’t ask me that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you forgetting who I am.” He answered. “If I turn into someone else, I don’t want you to… to lose your memories of me in them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was stupid, but he understood. Aziraphale was facing the potential that he’d lose himself completely, have all of what he knew broken into bits and tossed into the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what about you?” Crowley asked. “What if I want you to be able to remember who you are, too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s mouth hardened into the little line that formed just before his tears broke free, every time. Crowley reached in and pulled him into a hug, certain he needed it just as he was uncertain he could handle seeing Aziraphale cry right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I don’t fall, I don’t know what will happen to me. They’ll never trust me again, now. I’ll be relieved of my post…” Aziraphale was hyperventilating now, and all Crowley could do was stroke his hair and damn Her for breaking his Angel’s faith in Heaven, maybe for good this time.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Breathe In, Breathe Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale did not fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They waited, suspended in the dully bright hazy grey that was Purgatory for who knew how long, but Aziraphale did not fall. He did not burn, did not feel his holiness, Her Grace, being ripped away from him. And so they sat, and spoke, almost as if it was any other night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was less alcohol, of course, no warmth to speak of, and a distinct shortage of good meals for Aziraphale, but Crowley clung to this time, in case it was to be the last of it they spent together. And what an unfathomable thought, for two immortal beings: the sudden shortage of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was days, he was almost certain, into their time here that Aziraphale first started showing signs of discomfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He became sweaty and his breaths became labored, but he shrugged it off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My collar is a little tight, is all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had been wearing his jacket for the better part of two days before he’d felt well enough to summon clothes of his own, and Aziraphale had remained in his half-dressed state-- which was to say, buttoned up, bowtie in place, vest on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had thought it was just anxiety, so he politely ignored it as Aziraphale got a little more comfortable; loosening the tie, opening the top button. He didn’t stare, though he wanted to. He’d recently seen him in a toga again for the first time in ages, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the wheezing didn’t let up. And Aziraphale looked out of it, increasingly trailing off in his sentences, fighting through coughing… He ended up laying down on his back, trying to make it easier to breathe…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t falling. And Crowley had no idea what it was, or how to help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I can heal here, you should be able to, too!” He told his friend urgently, crouching over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heal </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> We--” he collapsed into a coughing fit that lasted for the better part of a minute. “We don’t get sick. Maybe this is-- is heaven’s doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what it was, but I need you to try, alright? What will it hurt to try?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s eyes flicked upwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miracles’re… requests. I don’t want to know if--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he would be denied. Even if they weren’t causing this, which Crowley doubted; after all, the timing was too suspect for it to be anything but Heaven-- still, even if it wasn’t them, they had proven they liked to keep those they didn’t like writhing and in agony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can try, then-- but you know the consequences.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They knew better than to try healing one another; the resultant backlash of opposing powers was painful and draining and nauseating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nodded frantically, his fingers fluttering now around his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley pulled up and aimed for his airway, and when that seemed not to do much, he aimed lower, for the lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sat up, suddenly gasping in huge mouthfuls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What--” He asked, and Crowley shook his head-- a mistake, given how his entire corporation was rioting against his actions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Your lungs, maybe leftover from breathing in all that sulfur smoke?” He hoped it was that, at least. And not Heaven trying to find new and interesting ways of getting around the promise of protection that Aziraphale had made. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was no way for them to know. All they could do was keep one another company as they suffered through the new headaches and cramps, and look out for any sign of other symptoms, from whatever the angels might throw at them next. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Is Something Burning?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They came for them later, though by how much, neither of them could guess. The empty void of Purgatory was neither the cramped, chaotic darkness of hell nor the spacious and organized brightness of heaven, but a swirling dull greyness with no definition at all. Nothing seemed to hold onto its shape, save the two of them, and, Aziraphale suspected, that was only because they alone were there in physical corporations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would bet that if they’d been placed there in spirit form, they would have been pulled apart and dispersed like just so much more fog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was horrific, and didn’t bear thinking about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When a section of the fog slid away, revealing the elevator that would return them to earth-- or send them to Heaven or Hell, Aziraphale climbed to his feet and pulled at Crowley’s coat, pointing mutely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation hadn’t ended, per say, merely trailed off several times as they grew thirsty and had nothing to drink, or spoke in circles, or let the fear of the future overtake their minds until they had to stop lest they inflict their imaginations on one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stood as well, and flinched as the shapes in the elevator became clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Archangel Gabriel stood there, but beside him was Lord Beelzebub. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This could only spell trouble for the both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could stay.” Aziraphale offered, even as he began straightening out his clothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Might as well get whatever this is over with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quickly please!” Gabriel yelled, unhelpfully. “This damp is depressing enough without having to watch you dither.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Resigned, they approached the door, stepping out of purgatory and back into the somewhat equally neutral, but more appealingly defined elevator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So.” Gabriel said, looking altogether smug and folding his hands. “It seems there’re some things you’ve been keeping from us, Aziraphale. Nice little jaunt to hell-- slaying a demon in battle?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gulped audibly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, it was a bit of a long story, and I meant to put it in my report, but--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ Beelzebub turned their attention on Crowley, and he lifted his chin, once again quaking in his not-quite-boots. “Aiding in the escape of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>angel</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seemed the thing to do at the time?” He offered weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you’ve both proven yourselves </span>
  <em>
    <span>traitors, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and as you haven’t fallen--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you can’t fall again…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And technically Hell started it…” Gabriel shot an almost fondly annoyed look in Beelzebub’s direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we can’t kill you, yet-- apparently you both factor into some Plans. So you will return to your posts. With one exception-- you will be marked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley saw Aziraphale’s usually rosy cheeks pale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, again?” Crowley asked, reaching up to trace the tattoo at his temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, not like that. Rather, you’ll be in Gabriel’s hands, and I’ll have the Angel to myself. We’ve already agreed on the design.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-- but surely, if God herself doesn’t see cause to punish us--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Metatron says you just aren’t worth Her time.” Gabriel cut in smoothly. “So it’s up to us to create a reasonable solution. And this is it: We’re going to brand you as traitors, straight through your physical bodies and onto your immortal souls.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha-- how do you plan to do that?” Crowley asked, nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy water and hellfire.” Beelzebub answered with relish. “Respectively, of course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Two chairs sat opposite one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside one was a bucket, beside the other was a flame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From here, they could see a single poker between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley felt his stomach fall out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a little burn, then it’ll be done.” Aziraphale muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I imagine it’ll hurt more than that.” Gabriel told him cheerfully, as he began rolling up his sleeves. “Crawley, you’re with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shot one last, quick glance in Aziraphale’s direction, shrugged, and followed, inwardly panicking and trying not to hyperventilate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He settled into the seat, and saw Aziraphale doing the same. They were aimed to face one another-- to see each other get branded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who wants to go first?” Beelzebub asked, rubbing their hands together excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.” Aziraphale volunteered, voice calm and cool, eyes locked on Crowley’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley licked his lips and winced as the poker was put into the flames. It glowed white hot in only moments, and then Beelzebub pulled away Aziraphale’s collar and pushed his head forward, the brand searing through the skin on the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From here, Crowley could hear the sound of it, smell the skin and hair being burnt. He jolted forward, his first impulse to go to him, to try to help, but Gabriel took hold of his shoulder and shoved him back and into the chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale let out a gutteral scream that stayed locked behind his gritted teeth as long as possible, and only when it finally broke through and left his throat was it over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beelzebub walked away from him and toward Crowley, dropping the hot brand in the bucket of Holy water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All yours.” They said, with a too sharp smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked up at Gabriel, licked him lips, and tried a smile of his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I at least see the design first?” He asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel pulled out the poker and held it up for Crowley to see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On you, it’s gonna be a halo over a pitchfork-- you putting an angel before your own kind. On him, we inverted it-- a pitchfork stabbing a halo. Proof that you’re both traitors, and you’ll never be able to heal it or wipe it away.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded; it was fitting, not something he’d have picked, of course, but-- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard the poker dipping back into the pot and leaned forward on his own, baring the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bit his lip, closed his eyes-- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>screamed</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--and passed out.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Into the Unknown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The thing about a branding on a corporeal form is that the heat of the brand seals up the worst of the burn. It’s still burned, however, still uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soul deep brand, on the other hand, has nothing to seal up. It’s simply a hole in the essence of you, a hole through and through, a space where once you were and some of that has been pulled away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it leaves the rest of that essence incredibly vulnerable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they discovered when they awoke in the bookshop, sprawled out across the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale didn’t recall being hit on the head or having fallen asleep this time, but unquestionably he’d been unconscious for the trip back, and so… they must have done something to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head didn’t hurt, though his neck did, and he found himself rubbing at the skin, which felt itchy and inflamed, and felt his ethereal fingers probing deeper to run over the underlying wound-- only for something to pull at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gasped and took his hand away, instantly shaky and nauseous with the fear and questions swirling within him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What </span>
  </em>
  <span>was it, what did it want, how did it get there, </span>
  <em>
    <span>How did they get it out?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley?” He asked, and even his voice was shaky. He tried his best to rouse the demon, but he only murmured and managed, somehow, to sprawl himself out further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt the thinnest ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth at that, then felt more than heard a voice in his head murmuring, </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re fond of him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale froze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” He whispered, shocked that the prospect of his infection being sentient hadn’t even begun to cross his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just a hitchhiker. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The voice said, sounding smug and evasive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a-- now see here--” Aziraphale spluttered, and the voice cut in smoothly, interrupting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t mind if I do.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Aziraphale was aware of an odd shuffling sensation, a pulling, as if he was being taken by the shoulders of his soul and steered backwards into a corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only, whatever had done the steering brushed past him, and he felt it opening his eyes, was aware of what it saw without actually seeing it. He felt, in an oddly detached way, his own head turning, as it surveyed his shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How quaint.” Came out of his mouth, in his voice, and Aziraphale-- or the essence of Aziraphale that was now in the back of his own mind, shuddered. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It is quaint, and it is mine-- as is this body. You will get out of me this instant!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, no. I don’t think I will.” It said, again using Aziraphale’s mouth. He could feel himself smiling and hated it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, as if to make the nightmare worse, Crowley stirred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think you will what, Angel?” He asked, words punctuated with a yawn as he stretched, then winced as he rediscovered his own branding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing.” The thing inside of Aziraphale said. “Sleep well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It came off as casual, but too much so-- almost cruel. Crowley sat up. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You leave him alone-- leave him out of this!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we… back? For real?” Crowley asked, doing his own quick survey of the shop before pushing himself up off the ground, like one of those string puppets being pulled up and to life.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The only puppet here is you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The thing thought at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale surged in the direction of the voice, encountering a smooth wall. He couldn’t get so much as a mental fingerhold against it, though he tried, his spirit slipping across the surface of the invader’s shield like water over glass. </span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems like it,” the thing was speaking through his lips again, and Aziraphale bristled as it raised his hand and took Crowley’s, using it to pull itself to Aziraphale’s feet. The thing held onto Crowley’s hand longer than strictly necessary, and Aziraphale saw when Crowley noticed, and saw the way he flushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley let go and stepped back, looking around, though more performatively this time. Avoiding Aziraphale’s body’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale snarled. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Leave him be!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, his body moved without his permission, stepping forward and catching Crowley’s chin, turning his face to make him look into Aziraphale’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” The thing asked, voice lowered into something almost sultry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It moved Aziraphale’s hand down the side of Crowley’s face, down his neck, and over his shoulder, to slide behind him, using Aziraphale’s fingers to brush against the edge of the brand. Once it found the marking, it rubbed across it, grinning as Crowley let out a low sound of discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stiffened and pulled away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t Aziraphale. Who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing’s grin widened on Aziraphale’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh very good!” It crooned. “Poor little demon, so in love with the angel. Doesn’t even bother to make sure it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the angel, before responding to the mere shadow of his corporation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is Aziraphale?” Crowley demanded, glaring into Aziraphale’s eyes. “If you’ve so much as harmed a glimmer of his soul, I swear to you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m here, Crowley! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale yelled inside his own mind, and was surprised when it came out of his mouth as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you see, anything you try to do to me, you’ll also be doing to him. And you wouldn’t want to hurt him, would you, snakey?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s mouth snapped shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Raum.” He said the name grimly, and Aziraphale felt the thing within him squirming with delight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You recognized me faster than you realized it wasn’t him! I’m so</span>
  <em>
    <span> flattered</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on Angel. Looks like we’re going to have to have a good old fashioned exorcism.” Crowley spoke past Raum and to Aziraphale himself, trapped as he was inside of his corporation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The prospect seemed especially unexciting when Raum’s laugh echoed both inside and out of Aziraphale. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. A Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Raum was a Great Earl of Hell, which was nothing to sneeze at, save if you were Crowley, who sneezed at things just to seem cool and above them. The other demons found this mostly confusing, as it wasn’t an expression that had really made its way to hell, and given they didn’t have noses that came with actual allergies, them not knowing about them and thus not expecting them to exist, most demons didn’t even sneeze to begin with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All this to say that despite his familiarity with the demon currently taking up his best friend’s form, he wasn’t especially impressed by him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did have one worry though, and it was pretty clear that Raum knew exactly what that was, and was planning to use it against him as much as possible. You see, Raum was master of the ability of reconciling friends and foes and, pushing that further, invoking love. Which he did, like some kind of perversion of a cherub, sewing love and lust where it would do the most harm, cause the most damage. And of course, his other big power paired well with that-- he had foresight, the ability to see the future, so he knew exactly how all of this would pan out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shame he never confessed his love before now, huh?” Raum was saying through Aziraphale’s lips, his words biting and cruel in a way that didn’t match the voice or the face that delivered them. “When he does after this-- if he ever gets around to it-- you’ll have to wonder if he ever really felt that way about you, or if it’s just a present I left, a time bomb ticking away in his head.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raum laughed, and Crowley almost slapped him, even though he knew that was what he wanted. Raum wanted Crowley to lash out, and he wanted Aziraphale, trapped in his body but able to experience all of it, to become afraid of Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t let that happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re wrong.” Crowley told Raum, calm as you please. “I’ve known Aziraphale for six thousand years. I’m pretty sure if he felt that way about me, I’d know by now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and how’s that? You think he’d have told you? Just like you’ve already told him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley cursed him silently and hoped Aziraphale would let him explain it away as just lies from a demon’s unimaginative mind. He didn’t want this to ruin things between them. Not something as dumb as love, when they’d been through so much else together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, you’ve got that wrong, too. But you’re just a demon who doesn’t get out much, so let me spell it out: What you’re sensing? That’s not love. That’s possessiveness. This angel is </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I don’t like sharing my toysss.” Crowley let his tongue split as he hissed the word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raum seemed unimpressed, smiling serenely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t like that.” Raum reported, and Crowley felt his stomach lurch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, Aziraphale wouldn’t like that, would he? But he’d understand-- he must. It was just to protect him. Crowley would make it up to him later-- spend the next six thousand years making it up to him, if he had to, just as long as Aziraphale was safe. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And assuming he’d let him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley got the last of the preparations ready and stepped forward, smudging the salt circle he’d trapped Aziraphale’s body in with his toe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So how do you think this is going to go?” Raum mocked, leaving the remains of the ward and circling Crowley like he was going to tackle him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You think you, a demon, will be able to perform the holy rights needed to exorcise me, another demon? You’ll burn the forked tongue out of your mouth if you even try.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one nice thing about foresight-- the user’s future was always hidden from them. Always. She, in Her infinite wisdom, was smart enough to know where to draw the line on Her gifts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sssomething like that.” Crowley said, and stepped to the side, before turning tail and running upstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raum was clearly caught by surprise, but he followed, and Crowley thanked his lucky stars that everything was where they’d left it. He snatched the glass bottle that the Holy Water had come in up, and grinned triumphantly at the few drops that clung to the bottom of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s body came barreling around the corner and into the bathroom, and Crowley looked it dead in the eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awfully sorry, Aziraphale.” He apologized, before smashing the glass on the counter and grabbing Aziraphale’s head to drip the last few drops directly into the branding mark on the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound that came out of Aziraphale’s mouth was well, unholy, and Crowley held the body as gently as he could while keeping it still-- forcing Raum to get liquefied out of it before he let Aziraphale raise his head up, and took hold of his shoulders to help stabilize him while he found his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he had, though, Aziraphale reached out and took hold of Crowley’s hands, and Crowley felt that fear come right back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Raum had left Aziraphale thinking he was in love with him, Crowley had no idea what he could do to fix that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Aziraphale flipped his hands over, front to back, then looked up, relief etched on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t get any on you, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley let out the breath he hadn’t intended to hold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Angel, I think we’re good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale pulled him into an embrace, and Crowley let himself have this much, glad that nothing seemed to have changed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. I Did Not See That Coming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They settled back in fairly easily; went back to their habits and rituals, and it was almost too easy. They kept jumping at shadows, though, flinching when the door to the shop opened or someone stared in their direction for too long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was unnerving, and felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it came, it wasn’t from above or below, but right there on Earth, and neither of them saw it coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was an unassuming slip of a girl, a local uni student whose glasses, while stylish enough black square plastic things, made her stand out as one of the few not wearing contacts on a rainy day in the city. Her hair was back in a bun and she looked only mildly bedraggled, probably thanks to the umbrella, discarded in the bucket at the door for just such a use. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes? How can I help you?” Aziraphale asked, trying to sound friendly in case she needed a kind word and a ready ear, but not too kind, in case she needed a book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, um, my name is Sarah, and I was told that if I was in search of something occult, I ought to come here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale cocked his head and blinked at her, not quite getting the warning bells he knew he probably ought to. It was just, she was so polite and small, she hardly seemed a threat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I do have some occult books I suppose-- though, are you certain you aren’t looking for the cauldron and candlestick on the next street over? I’m sure they have a much wider selection.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at him with wide eyes and mutely shook her head no. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I um, I’m not here for a book.” She informed him, fidgeting a little with the sleeve of her jumper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well, I’m not sure--” Aziraphale began. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mathias sent me. He said that you might be able to point me in the direction of a demon or two. Angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked up at him, firming her resolve and squaring her shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was sorely tempted to laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, pish, what would you want with a demon? I asked Mathias the same thing-- why deal with devils when you know very well what I am?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well sir, you see…” She took a deep breath. “I’m part demon myself as it turns out. I hope you won’t smite me for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” Aziraphale said, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. “You don’t happen to know which demon…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An acquaintance of yours, I’m told. Apparently he goes by the human name Anthony J. Crowley.” She frowned. “I looked him up and found his flat, but he didn’t answer the door.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, he wouldn’t-- it’s been a rather hard month on him, poor thing.” Aziraphale answered vaguely, allowing his mouth to run on auto-pilot while he mulled over the implications. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had, at some point, slept with a human and gotten them-- with child. Unless Crowley, in one of her female guises, had carried a half demon babe to term. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine it was the latter-- surely Crowley would have told him, or come to him, surely it wasn’t something he would have hidden… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know where I might find him, please?” She asked, and Aziraphale snapped back to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear, yes. Here, why don’t you take a seat, I’ll fix you up a cup of tea, and give him a ring. I expect he was planning to come around shortly anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got Sarah set up in the back room with a blanket across her lap and a mug in hand, then dialed Crowley’s flat. He got the ansaphone instead, which he supposed to mean Crowley was already on his way, so he left well enough alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, if Aziraphle didn’t get any warning on this matter, he didn’t see why Crowley should have one. Petty, perhaps, and unangelic besides, but if anyone asked, he wanted it to be a surprise. It wasn’t far enough from the truth for it to count as a lie, he reasoned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so, when Crowley came through the front door to the merry jingling of the bell, Azirapahale’s smile was genuine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a surprise waiting for you in the back room!” He all but trilled, and Crowley did look surprised. Perhaps, too surprised?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Aziraphale a little aback-- he’d arranged surprises and gifts for Crowley before, surely? Certainly Crowley went out of his way to do so for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly, Aziraphale felt a bit bad. But it was already too late. Crowley had made his way in, his words, “What’s this then, ange--” Trailing off at the sight of the girl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale came up behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Sarah. I believe she is a relation of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah stood, small fists clenched at her sides and nearly trembling with nervous energy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! You took my mother’s soul.” She said, clearly using every bit of resolve she possessed. “I want it back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Crowley asked, looking back and forth between the girl and the angel. “Is this some sort of-- of intervention or something? I don’t have your mother’s soul, I’m very sorry, but I think you’re confused.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. My mom’s name is Tawny Wilson, and she made a deal with you-- her soul for the ability to have a baby. I’m the baby. I want you to take the demonic whatever you left me with, and give me her soul in return.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, and the expression on his face was damn near heart rending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t honestly believe this, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, nearly pleading. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not. I can’t sense a single lick of demonic energy in you, dear girl.” Aziraphale assured her, and she startled, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> part demon?” She looked annoyed and confused in turns, and Aziraphale couldn’t blame her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley snapped, and Aziraphale flinched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tawny</span>
  </em>
  <span>! The singer, Tawny with the teeth!” Crowley nodded, seemingly excited to remember. He paused. “She’s got her whole soul, last I knew. Only, I might have said otherwise at the time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you told the woman you were taking her soul?” Aziraphale asked, more amused by all of this than anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, had to come off properly demonic, didn’t I? She found out what I am, tried to blackmail me into helping fix some, y’know,” Crowley gestured in the vague direction of his midsection, “Troubles, that sort of thing, and me, I was happy to, but--” He glanced in Sarah’s direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was gonna get in trouble if my lot found out I went around doing favors. Couldn’t risk word getting out. So I told her I took her soul and her child might be cursed a little is all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can promise you aren’t cursed, either.” He told Sarah, pleased that this was all working out just fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only, Sarah clearly didn’t think so. Her face crumpled, and she began to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale pushed past Crowley to wrap his arms around the poor dear. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Here now, I would think all of this was good news. So what’s the matter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mum’s sick.” She said through her tears. “And she thought it was because she’s got no soul, ‘n I’m cursed, so I thought I could fix it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked over her head at Crowley, who looked stricken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Crowley said gently. “It must just be a regular, human sort of sickness. What about doctors? Can they help?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They dunno what’s wrong. One of ‘em referred us to Mathias, says he consults on things when there’s a curse in the family.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what did Mathias say you should do? What was the plan-- is he coming here?” Crowley asked, becoming more concerned sounding as the questions progressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Aziraphale mused, “I’m beginning to think this Mathias character has it out for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said I should either make a trade or blackmail you.” She answered, then bit her lip. “Would you take my soul, then, if it’s not cursed?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That isn’t-- that’s not how this works, really.” Crowley said, clearly trying to be gently, though he seemed annoyed. “Cor, but you are your mother’s daughter, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blackmail, then…” She muttered softly. “Fine, you didn’t want your bosses to know what you did, right? I’ll find them, then, and, and tell them. That you’ve been going around blessing humans and healing them and what not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good deal more dangerous for you than it is from him, but I think we can figure something out. Here, why don’t we see your mum? I am an angel, after all, and you aren’t a demon or cursed, and she has her soul, so… perhaps I can help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally,</span>
  <em>
    <span> finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sarah looked hopeful and relieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you?” She asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No blackmail necessary.” Aziraphale assured her. “Crowley? Feel up to visiting an old friend?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded, and stepped aside to let Sarah lead the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we bring anything you think?” He asked, some of the anxiety that he usually kept tucked away behind his cool exterior leaking out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, knowing mom, she’ll have tea on before you’re even through the door.” Sarah gave them a watery smile, retrieved her umbrella, and led them out into the wet London evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t live too horribly far away; Sarah had apparently made the walk a few times that week, in her search for Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let them in and shucked her outer things, calling up the stairs for her mother, before disappearing to fetch her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite the surprise, Angel.” Crowley grumbled, shifting from foot to foot, and Aziraphale frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought she was some… lost daughter of yours, or something! A family reunion.” He gestured grandly. “I’m sorry; I thought this was cause for joy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it is.” A voice told them seriously, as Mathias stepped out of the kitchen, cross bow trained on them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bet you didn’t see that coming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, damn it all!” Crowley hissed, and with a quick gesture, he shut down all the power in the flat. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Panic! At the Disco</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The fight at Tawny and Sarah’s hadn’t been much of one, and Crowley had slept for the better part of two weeks afterwards while he digested the hunter he’d swallowed whole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had seemed like a quick fix, and left Aziraphale alone to mull over the prospect of making it up to him. He had, after all, gotten them into that mess by being so quick to suspect Crowley of something so against his character-- a recurring fault of his, he knew, and one that had done untold damage in the past. All based on an anti-demonic bias that was the result of a mixture of Heavenly propaganda and most of The Host’s unfamiliarity with this specific demon, so different to every other one he’d met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what was more, he couldn’t shake the memory of the surprise on Crowley’s face at the prospect of Aziraphale having something for him, instead of the other way ‘round. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew he’d been… careful. Maintained an appearance of standoffishness. But he hadn’t realized exactly how one sided everything had become until just that moment, and he felt an overwhelming need to put it to rights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so it was that when Crowley did finally wake up, Aziraphale had made sure to leave a letter on his bedside table, neat as you like, inviting Crowley over for tea whenever he was available next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just something small, to start-- it was usually Crowley who phoned to see if Aziraphale was free, and it seemed only polite to do it the other way, this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only, Crowley burst into the bookshop in a state, hair uncombed and jacket half sliding off of his thin shoulders, his fashionable neckwear notably missing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel, you alright?” He asked, beelining from the door to the register and ignoring the human customers who had looked up and were taking in the scene with wide eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Of course, Crowley, why wouldn’t I be?” Aziraphale asked, heart pounding in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley pressed the note to the countertop with an annoyed flourish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought someone might have captured you again,” He said lowly, and Aziraphale could only hope the customers hadn’t heard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, my dear boy-- I only meant to ask you over as a thanks for your help the other night.” He smoothed the letter, which had gotten wrinkled up in Crowley’s mad dash to reach the bookshop, poor thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley rocked back on his heels and looked at Aziraphale over his glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s really all?” He pressed, and Aziraphale smiled and nodded and laced his fingers together over his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Truly.” He insisted. “I’m so sorry to have given you such a fright. You must let me make it up to you-- dinner, perhaps?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley hummed, then looked around the store, as if aware for the first time that they weren’t alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pick you up at seven?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gave him a wide grin. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Crowley.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so off Corwley went, pulling his coat on properly on his way out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was left to consider what sort of restaurant Crowley would like; they usually went where </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to go, and, tempting as it was to visit an old favorite, he felt like he probably needed something a little more… Crowley like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to imagine what that would be like. Dark, full of bebop, probably with small plates, considering Crowley’s recent very large meal. Lots of alcohol. And of course, very stylish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale did his best to dress the part, as well, and when Crowley arrived, he climbed in the Bentley a few layers lighter than usual, sans all tartan, and in slightly darker shades of taupe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stared at him, paying no attention to the cars queuing up behind him and laying on their horns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You feeling alright, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, sounding wary. He looked tense, as well, and Aziraphale hoped he hadn’t made his invitation too soon after Crowley’s waking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? Yes, of course. Anyway I should be asking you-- you only just woke up after weeks of sleeping-- are you sure you’re up to going out tonight?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley didn’t quite answer, instead turning his face away, long fingers strumming on the steering wheel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, where are we going?” He asked at length. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale grinned, bouncing a little in his seat, which seemed to ease at least a little of Crowley’s tension. He gave him the address of the place he’d found. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Up the High Street?” Crowley asked, eyebrows leaping up from behind his glasses frames. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nodded eagerly. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Something a little different, I thought. Oh, I do hope you’ll like it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They parked out front of Max’s, and Crowley looked up at the store front. Aziraphale couldn’t guess what he was thinking, but given he hadn’t seen the inside yet, nor the menu, he figured he couldn’t possibly disapprove. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, come on then, I’ve got a reservation waiting for us!” Aziraphale got out of the car with his usual enthusiasm, and Crowley followed a mere moment later, any hesitation he may have had gone when Aziraphale glanced over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale skipped the last few steps to the door and took hold of the handle, giving Crowley a quick, secretive smile as he felt the vibrations of the music through the thick wood and metal. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“In we go!” He announced, and pulled the door open to let Crowley in-- and the loud music out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley actually took a step backwards, looked at Aziraphale with surprise writ large on his face, and Aziraphale nodded. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I know! I found a place that plays bebop like it’s a concert for you!” He shouted over the din, already despairing of having any sort of a conversation over their meal. But, that was alright, if this was more to Crowley’s tastes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley cocked his head, but took the few steps needed to cross the threshold, and Aziraphale followed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than shouting his name at the hosts, Aziraphale held up his phone with the reservation information displayed brightly enough to cast a glow on the humans’ faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young man nodded and took up the menus, then gestured that they should follow him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had seen photos, but in them the restaurant had been empty and well lit, though the reviews had promised exactly the sort of atmosphere he’d been looking for. And it didn’t disappoint. The place was dark and crowded, the music loud and pulsing, the place giving off more of a modern dance club ambiance than a sit down restaurant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet when they were seated, on concrete blocks without seat backs, at a barren metal table, it was made clear that not only was this a restaurant, but they prided themselves on their miniaturized versions of American fare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look!” Aziraphale called, shoving the menu under Crowley’s nose-- “Sliders!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley flinched, and Aziraphale felt his smile wavering somewhat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s drinks as well.” He offered, flipping the laminated menu over to show off those offerings, and to his relief Crowley lifted it and began to peruse it-- though he didn pull out his mobile to light the menu. His glasses, Aziraphale realized-- it must be too dark to see properly through them. And of course, he couldn’t take them off, lest he have to worry about startling the humans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was… unfortunate, and something that Aziraphale probably ought to have foreseen being an issue. But that was alright-- ordering was so little of the experience. Once they were beyond it… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The server appeared as if on cue and offered them a touch screen pad-- another way to not speak to them, which was fine with Aziraphale. His throat already was a little sore, just from yelling those few sentences at Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley, too, looked relieved, and Aziraphale realized the menu was probably easier to read all lit up like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He relaxed back in his chair and looked around, taking in the very stylish people and the barrenness of the walls, free of kitsch or knick knacks or… character. He usually favored warm, inviting restaurants, and this one was every bit the opposite, but that was fine. It reminded him a little of Crowley’s flat, albeit a good deal louder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, Crowley did love both humans and their music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the little screen when Crowley thrust it his way and expected to see Crowley’s drink order, but instead he found a little bit of text in the “message to the waitstaff” section. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It simply read</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“CAN WE LEAVE?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale felt his heart sink, but he sat the screen down and stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was out of his seat faster than Aziraphale thought possible, and he followed, apologizing to the hosts as they left, though he knew that they couldn’t hear him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He returned to the car to find Crowley leaning against it and breathing heavily, his glasses off and his eyes shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Angel. That was…” He trailed off, obviously not having words for the experience, and even with his eyes closed, his face scrunched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s quite all right. It was a bit much, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale spoke softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Felt a bit like hell.” Crowley said slowly, then opened his eyes to train them on Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale saw the way Crowley’s look danced from one of his eyes to the next, then down his form, before narrowing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you choose there, of all places?” He asked, words coming out slow and suspicious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I… I thought it might be something you’d like. With the stylishness and the dark…” He trailed off, realizing he’d misstepped something awful, and unsure how to fix it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The dark, where I wouldn’t be able to get a proper look at you, the loud where we wouldn’t have to talk…” Crowley said slowly. “Asking me out so you wouldn’t seem like you were avoiding me…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever are you on about?” Aziraphale asked, feeling lost and like he’d missed something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>angel</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Crowley said, words nearly a growl. “Why would the real Aziraphale choose this restaurant, when we passed ten of his favorites on the way here? Why would he be so adamant about doing something I like, when that isn’t at all how this works? Why take me somewhere where we could easily be ambushed, unable to hear or see anyone coming up behind us?” Crowley advanced on Aziraphale, and he felt his stomach plummeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley?” He asked quietly. “Crowley, it’s-- I’m just me this time. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry, it’s just, after my last ‘surprise’ went so badly, I thought…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked confused, and even tilted his head, clearly considering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me something, Angel. Something only you could know. And if it’s even the slightest bit wrong, I swear to you I will drop you in a holy water fountain faster than you can say oysters.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale huffed, but felt a tiny smile pulling up at the corners of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You saved my books, during the blitz. Came into a church and everything, hopped around like… oh I’m not sure, a children’s character, and then you dropped a bomb right on our heads, left me to miracle us out… but you, you saved my books. And I have never forgotten it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked stricken, then glanced away, and Aziraphale watched as the tension drained from his frame and left him looking a bit like a half cooked pasta noodle-- droopy at the edges but still too stiff to slide fully into the pot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. I’m sorry, I’m a tit.” Crowley didn’t look him in the eye. “If you want to go back in…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all.” Aziraphale said firmly, in response to both. “Let’s say this is a failed experiment. Now-- is there anywhere you </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> like to go? Or we can pick up some takeaway and just go back to the bookshop. I have some rather fantastic seventy year old Egon Muller riesling we could crack open.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked up at that, and gave Aziraphale an only somewhat strained smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That actually sounds fantastic. But only if you put some tartan on before we start-- I can’t shake how much you look like someone else dressed you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Privately, that felt like a small victory to Aziraphale. He never would have banked on Crowley requesting he wear tartan. But, well, it had been a rather rough few weeks.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Broken  Hearts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I swear ‘snot for… reporting or anything.” Aziraphale began, a couple of bottles into the evening and feeling warm and comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley rolled his hand at the wrist, urging him to go on, get on with the question already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘S just-- I only ever see one of a handful of demons on Earth, an’ I know only some ‘f the folks in hell’re demons. You got all them other kinds, but-- well, how many demons’re there? Proper, old demons. The ones who, y’know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fell</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley considered not answering, or giving a half answer, but it seemed unfair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had been incredibly forthcoming all night-- as if their recent troubles had made him more trusting, more willing to be open with him, and it seemed like he deserved to know. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been to hell, after all. Of course he was curious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thousands </span>
  <em>
    <span>fell</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Crowley started with, then looked consideringly at the bottle he held loosely by the neck, and took a large pull of it. “About a third of all of all angels </span>
  <em>
    <span>fell</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not all of us landed, though, if you get my meaning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale cocked his head to the side, and Crowley could see him trying to work it through, his face contorting with strained concentration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sighed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Some went to pieces in the fall. Turned into, I dunno, ash or stardust. I was a li’l... busy at the time. Distracted.” He paused and had another drink, trying not to remember. “Some fell into th’ lakes of burning sulphur and couldn’t or wouldn’t claw their way back up. They just… stayed down there. Maybe still down there now, I dunno. And some… some made it to hell, but couldn’t figure out how’ta go on. It was… it’s a big loss, y’know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a somber conversation, and had him looking down the neck of the bottle and wondering how many more of these it’d take to forget the horror of so many millenia prior. It never seemed to fade, though, and the wounds were fresher than usual, what with his return to heaven and the literal holes in his spirit where-- he shuddered. If the Metatron tried to force grace into him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’d have no defense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s not a lot’f us left. Dozens, maybe a couple hundred I’d say, yeah. An’ we’ve made some additions, familiars and imps n lil monsters n the like, but… heaven wants a war, I know. There’re gonna have a skirmish, a blood bath. ‘S not gonna be grand, or glorious. ‘S gonna be putting a lot of folks out of their misery, or fightin’ folks who have forgotten what misery is, what pain is. Gonna be a tough fight, believe you me, but it’s not gonna be an even match, jus the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was cruel.” He said simply, and Crowley felt his heart lurch in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was… was Aziraphale condemning God? He shook his head, silently telling him not to go on. So many of them had fallen for so much less.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t’ve asked, sorry.” Aziraphale finished, and Crowley started breathing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not cruel.” He reassured him. “‘S just what happened. ‘S… not fair. Not what any’f us wanted. But…” He tried to shrug, but his limbs had gone a little liquid feeling with the drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you…” Aziraphale paused, and Crowley wondered what was so hard to ask. “D’you remember any of them? The ones who didn’t make it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley felt another pang, and sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even know who they all were, b’fore. Fallin’, it… it </span>
  <em>
    <span>changes</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, right? I know some of ‘em, who they were, who they are now, but… there was one. She grabbed onto me, when we were falling, held on, kept saying, I’ve got you, you got me, ‘n I was babbling yes, yeah, just trying to find a scrap of comfort...but she lost her grip partway down. I saw ‘er hit the sulfur pool. Then I went under, ‘n… she was just trying to climb out. She didn’t mean-- She grabbed back hold of me, but she… she pushed me down, back into it. That was when my eyes-- they were open when I went under. And I had to get out from under her, had to get away. Nex’ time I surfaced… she wasn’t anywhere. I don’t know who she was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was watching him, wide eyed, one hand pressed to his lips, as Crowley struggled his way through the story. It wasn’t the whole story-- he couldn’t find words for how scared he’d been, how hurt. How any touch had felt like a kindness, how falling with someone had given him hope he wouldn’t have to go through all of this alone. And then… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. He was too drunk to find the words, and too heartbroken to contemplate having this discussion sober. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s daft to say, but… there were times, early on, where I’d think, whoever she was, what would she be doing, if she made it out n not me? An-- how would things be diffr’nt if we both came out of it. If I had someone with me through all the--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the screaming, and the burns, the healing, the learning how to make bodies for themselves and crawling in the darkness, the burrowing upwards in search of God’s light and finding Earth instead, finding that the very light they were so missing hurt them now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I hadn’t been alone.” he finished instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was crying now, silent and unwilling to interrupt, and Crowley realized with a start that he was crying too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffed, annoyed, and wiped at his face roughly with the back of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t notice Aziraphale leaning forward until he touched him, and Crowley looked up, startled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you don’t always feel so alone, now.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley could’ve kissed him, if that wouldn’t ruin everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not for a long time now.” He told him, and if his voice was rough, neither of them remarked on it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They’d been on a stroll, like so many others, around the lake in St. James’, when it happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t the first time, exactly; Aziraphale knew of several other accounts, most of them dismissed as fiction or poppycock, but it had never happened to him before, and, judging by Crowley’s alarmed sounding squawk, which he would certainly not admit to emitting, later-- he was surprised as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One moment, they had been in present day, Aziraphale’s hand in a bag of crumbs, on the lookout for any hungry or friendly looking wildlife, the next, they had taken a step forward and found themselves in a populated square, the grounds paved in wood and stone and dirt, the people decidedly confused by their appearances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well!” Aziraphale exclaimed, albeit under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley took a step backwards, as though he expected to be able to reverse his way into the future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the place they were was instantly familiar; they’d been here, only not for hundreds of years. Well, they’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>the entire time, but the when was hundreds of years prior to the moment they’d just been in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale couldn’t explain how he could tell. It was like a taste, almost. The Earth hadn’t aged yet. He couldn’t pin down the exact year, but the vintage was younger than the one he was used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s so long ago!” Aziraphale said, then clapped delightedly, bouncing on his toes. “Oh, Crowley, our own Moberly-Jourdain incident! Oh, we shall call it the Crowley-Fell Adventure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it sounds better in alphabetical order, but if you insist we can call it the Fell-Crowley Incident. It does have a certain ring to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, one- Crowley-Fell sounds better, yeah. Two, you can’t write about this at all, we’re keeping a low profile, and three, which side do you suppose is responsible for this, and why do they want us now instead of back home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That did serve to deflate Aziraphale’s glee a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.” He said. “I suppose perhaps to make a point. They mightn’t have succeeded in their hopes of killing us or forcing me to fall, but they still have power over our lives.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. But why now, of all times? And when is now, anyway?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shrugged. “I imagine it was Heaven’s doing. They can’t conceive of a worse time than a dirty one. Let’s just hope we’ve landed between plagues.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pardon me,” He said to the first person he saw who didn’t avert their eyes and hurry past. It was a boy, probably close to being thought of as a man in these days, likely only beginning to breach teen-hood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Milord?” The boy asked, eyeing his clothing uncomfortably and doing a half bob of a bow, clearly unsure what to make of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh none of that,” Aziraphale said, waving off the formality. “My apologies, I think we’ve gotten a little lost. Ah-- our ship, you see, a rough voyage. What year is it? And who is King?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy looked a good deal more suspicious, of a sudden, and responded with the same incredulous snideness of teenagers everywhere. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It is 1204 in the year of our Lord, and King John rules England.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Aziraphale could almost hear the duh that would not be forthcoming for some time yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“1204, Crowley!” He exclaimed. “We have been away far longer than I thought!” He shook his head. “Thank you, lad, and if you can, start saving grains for your family now. The… uh… church says it is to be an especially cold winter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy looked, if anything, even more distrusting, but knuckled his brow and took off, glancing back at them as he went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on Angel, let’s go get some clothes that won’t stand out so much. We need to blend in til we can figure out how to get back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know… it mightn’t be so bad, if we can’t ‘get back’.” Aziraphale said ponderously as they walked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” Crowley sounded disgruntled, to say the least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you see, in all the fictitious accounts of time travel, the people doing the traveling have finite lifespans. They all want to go back for their families, their loved ones, to be with them. We don’t have that problem.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked askance at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but do you really want to live through all this all over again? And isn’t there the fear of running into ourselves? I don’t know about you, but if I ran into me, I wouldn’t wait to ask questions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Aziraphale brightened at that. “I should quite like to have a cup of tea with myself, actually-- what a grand way to catch up on the goings on of the time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, focus.” Crowley snapped. “There is a reason we have been sent back here and I suspect it’s to do with what’s coming in the future-- near to when we’re from. We need to find a way to get abc and stop whatever it is from happening.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if we don’t hurry the process, we’ll have an awful lot more time to stop whatever it is,” Aziraphale pointed out, sensibly, he thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was silent for a long moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t have your books to reference about it, though.” He said finally. “And no lovely takeout to eat while we work. No private plumbing, or gas lines, no central heating and cooling…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale felt his face fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have grown… accustomed, I suppose, to those little creature comforts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you said, that cold winter’s coming… food shortages and famine to follow. And all the sickness that’s to come-- 1204, we were at war with France, weren’t we? And England will be re-seizing church land soon, when John fights with the pope. You want to go through all of that nonsense again? You remember how conflicted you were about all of it, the first go round.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course, you’re right. The romance of it really is all in the nostalgia, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really is.” Crowley agreed. “Now come on, if I recall there’s a tailor up here somewhere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was odd, the echoes of familiarity and the utter strangeness existing together in this place. They found the tailor that Crowley remembered-- and he was, as Crowley remembered, really rather good. They left looking much more with the times, though Crowley insisted on keeping their other clothes with them, just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’s next?” Aziraphale asked, actually privately enjoying letting Crowley be the hero of this little misadventure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next, we find somewhere to stay; a home base.” Crowley spoke authoritatively, as if he’d had a plan for a while now. And, given how long it’d taken to get hose made for his incredibly long legs, perhaps he’d done his planning then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you make enough money for it?” Aziraphale asked, more than willing to pull his own weight, but Crowley reached down and nudged his coin purse, the currency within clinking softly together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have enough for a while. Don’t want to attract too much attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d said that frequently at the tailor’s, even as Aziraphale recalled the fashions of a mere few hundred years into the future with great fondness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d ended up with a loose fitting long tabard-like-thing over a longer linen robe-- comfortable enough, and stylish enough, though he couldn’t for the life of him recall the actual names of this style. No matter; it did its job well enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They found an inn, fortunately located near several food stalls and a proper bar, insomuch as such a thing existed these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was wine, and ale, and water that looked mostly clear, and Aziraphale counted himself grateful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what is your plan from here?” Aziraphale asked Crowley, once they were settled in their single shared room. Wouldn’t want to attract attention by spending too much, nor risk being separated into different lodgings. And so they had their wine bottle and the honeyed figs Crowley had bought, despite his admonitions of being careful with their coin, for Aziraphale to enjoy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now… we figure out how we got here, and why, if possible, and most importantly, how to get back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a very long time since I was lost.” Aziraphale mused, speaking to the fig he was considering in his hand. “In fact, when I have been, usually I would simply pop up to heaven, and come back down where I intended to be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bit into the treat, and Crowley stared at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean we’ve spent the entire day in 1204, and we could have just… gone home at any time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shrugged and swallowed his mouthful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t know that it will work, based on your fear that it’s heaven who’s sent us here-- and if it does, then we can do it at any time. Think of it as a… a work sponsored holiday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A work spons-- Aziraphale are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span>? We’re in the medieval times! One look at my eyes, and I’m up on a flaming stake or off with my head, or--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale blotted at his mouth with a napkin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you honestly think I’d let them do that to you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you sure didn’t stop Gabriel doing it, did you?” Crowley snapped back, and then his expression shifted, and Aziraphale could tell he regretted it as soon as it was said. Even so, he recoiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. I’m sorry. Let’s… let’s go home.” He stood and made his way to a clear spot on the floor to begin drawing the correct sigils he’d need for transport. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, I’m sorry.” Crowley had stood and followed him, but Aziraphale ignored him in favor of his work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, you aren’t talking to me now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am trying to concentrate, Crowley. Certainly wouldn’t want to keep you where you don’t feel safe any longer than necessary.” He kept his tone even and his eyes on the symbols on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that-- I-- I have been so scared, all day, that they did this as a way to try and force us apart, or keep us away, and you… I don’t know how you can be so calm about all of this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Aziraphale did look up at him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I can be calm because you seemed to have a plan, and I trust you and feel safe around you. I’m sorry that I can’t do the same for you, but I understand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stared down at him for a moment.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That’s not what you mean to say at all, is it?” He asked. “You sound like them, shifting the blame, making it about-- about loyalty and faith. Why didn’t you tell me about your plan til just now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stopped drawing and sat back on his heels, dropping his head til his chin hit his chest. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ever since the arrangement began…” He started, then paused to lick his lips. “I have been growing more and more afraid to use miracles for the things that matter. Useless miracles, frivolous ones-- making tea and the like? That’s not a problem, but… The important ones. I’m always afraid they’ll find out, about us, about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and they’ll find a way to cut me off, with or without me falling, and… and so I avoid it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley tilted his head, then looked down at the floor, at Aziraphale’s half finished sigil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you would, because you realized how scared I am. You care about me more than you care about your own fear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, at least I can do one tiny angelic thing right.” Aziraphale spat back bitterly. “Now please-- let me finish this, and we will be on our way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and sat back down to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nodded and got back to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was several silent minutes later when he heard, faintly, Crowley say, “Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pretended he hadn’t.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. I Don't Feel So Well...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There is a terrible chat up line that starts off, “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” And, as Aziraphale knew all too well, the answer was a resounding yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t realized that there was a lingering pain from it that went beyond the emotional, though, until sometime around the battle that wasn’t in West Essex, and the conversations that came after, that night, in the cold and damp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had had a hard time standing up from where he’d sat, overnight, despite the fire they’d had going as they chatted. At first, Aziraphale had thought he was exhausted, but that didn’t fully make sense; they didn’t grow tired exactly. Still, he moved as if it was a labour to do so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you hurt?” Aziraphale asked finally, wondering why he hadn’t simply healed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley lifted one shoulder. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It only gets bad in the winters. Bloody funny joke to play, I suppose-- sending round the saviour and the subsequent celebrations of him, right when I feel the echo of getting the boot the most.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was what had stuck with him-- the phrasing. As if he’d merely been fired from a job or kicked out of a living situation. Making light of his loss, even when he couldn’t hide the physical repercussions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was, Aziraphale had decided, even that long ago, incredibly resilient. Though, of course, he would not say as much at the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so it was that the winter this year found Crowley miserably phoning to cancel plans-- something he rarely to never did, with the briefest of text messages: </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Raincheck, angel? Hurting today.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And Aziraphale knew it must be extraordinary amounts of pain for Crowley to admit as much. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course, my dear.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale sent back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“May I bring you a heating pad?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley responded with a raised-thumb-emoji which Aziraphale took to be permission to swing by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As such, he pulled down the picnic basket, now sadly unused as the days had grown shorter and the world colder for the season, but he pulled the blanket and corkscrew out, and gave it a new purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stocked it with every comfort he could imagine, then headed off, hailing a cab that showed up just as he stepped outside, almost as if by miracle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a short trip to the flat, and when Aziraphale knocked, the door swung open, and he heard Crowley from deeper within.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Make yourself to home, angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be in in just a moment!” Aziraphale called back, setting the small slowcooker on the counter of the kitchen and giving the soup he brought a quick heating zap while he set up the wine to mull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He filled the electric kettle and got it heating for the water bottle, and, once it was done, filled it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he was off to find his cold-blooded counterpart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was not in his bed, and indeed the blankets were not either. Aziraphale found him huddled on a fur in front of the fire, wrapped up like some sort of miserable textile mountain, only his face peering out and looking distinctly out of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you had an aspirin today?” He asked, first, and Crowley sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it doesn’t help much with this sort of ache.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But not helping much and not helping at all are very different things. Have one for me?” He requested, and presented the little bottle for Crowley’s approval. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sighed again and snaked a hand out of his warm cave to take a pill when Aziraphale gave it to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed it dry, no unhinging of his jaw necessary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. Now then-- here’s a hot water bottle, to get you started…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same hand took it and went back into its hole, followed by some squirming and rustling as Crowley placed it wherever it hurt the most-- his lower back, Aziraphale suspected. He had a feeling all of this had something to do with his peculiar loose limbed gait, but he had never asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I have an electric pad as well, if you’ve somewhere to plug it in. It does take a bit longer to heat up, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley waved at a nearby wall, and a socket appeared, conveniently close to his pile of covers and the fire so that he wouldn’t have to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale paused, blessed the socket and the fireplace to be sure the fire hazards that all of this presented would not become a reality, and then plugged the mat in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley again took it and twisted round until he was satisfied with the placement, tangling himself further in his blankets in the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’d stilled again, he lifted his head upwards and sniffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that, then?” He asked, sounding less grouchy by the moment, and more like himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought soup-- chicken bone broth and noodles, very traditional.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you did.” Crowley said, but there was a smile in his words and lingering at the corners of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Aziraphale continued primly, as if he had not been interrupted, “I also have wine mulling in a crock pot for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… you truly are an angel, Angel.” Crowley looked genuinely pleased, and Aziraphale’s own mouth took a quick upwards turn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I sit with you while we wait for it to be ready?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Takes hours, donnit?” Crowley asked, already squirming to make room for Aziraphale on the fur in front of the fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve all the time in the world, my dear boy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley hummed at that, and at least he sounded somewhat content. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Aziraphale would take it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Do these tacos taste funny to you?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A few days later, tired of soups and warm drinks, Crowley suggested they order in something of the other type of hot-- something with some kick, some spice, and that required some chewing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He suggested a nearby Ethiopian restaurant that had just opened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s been ages since I’ve had Ethopian.” Aziraphale said, delighted by the prospect. “I recall there being a lentil stew that I especially liked…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, here ya go then,” Crowley said, from his position curled up in the angel’s lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d found this situation to be best; Aziraphale being something of both a natural heater and natural pillow, and the perfect means of keeping Crowley’s back warm while he faced the fire, and vice versa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale took Crowley’s proffered mobile, carefully not laughing at the fact that Crowley’s bony wrist was the most of his skin he’d seen in days. It reminded him of very different times indeed. But, those times lacked the promise of Ethopian cuisine, and so he shifted his attention to the screen in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found the lentil stew he was thinking of--Aser Wat-- and a few other dishes that promised not to be too spicy for him, given he was ever so slightly more sensitive to that than Crowley was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley took the phone back and placed his own order, and Aziraphale watched on, bemused as Crowley found the spiciest dishes and added them to his basket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I suppose it will be clear whose is whose.” He commented, and Crowley snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome to try some of mine if you like,” He ribbed lightly, shifting in Aziraphale’s lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale hummed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long did it say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty to thirty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you have fifteen to twenty to decide if you want to get the door, or if you want to get off of me so that I may.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley made a face that someone else may have called a pout. Aziraphale would, too, save that he knew better than to put words to the expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does have to be one or the other.” Aziraphale pointed out helpfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley grumbled, but eventually did some sort of looping roll that seemed more befitting of his serpentine form than his man-shaped one, but did the trick all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with only minutes to spare as it turned out; the knock came on the door not long thereafter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll just fetch that then, shall I?” Aziraphale remarked mildly as he got to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thankss angel.” Crowley responded, sounding oddly smug for someone who had spent the last several days turned into a linens burrito. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gratefully accepted the bags from the courier and gave him a little tip, with a tiny blessing on the side, then returned to the demon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright my dear-- your very spicy foods are in this one.” He passed the bag off to Crowley, who slithered into a slightly more upright position to be able to eat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was delighted; everything was delicious, and he made a point of sampling a little of each item before he settled down with what he’d known would be his favorite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley appeared, at first, to be doing the same, but his expression was puzzled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does yours taste funny?” He asked at length, and Aziraphale cocked his head, confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny in what way?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sort of a… I don’t know, cleaning stuff, bleachy way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s eyes widened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all-- here, trade me?” He passed Crowley a plate of injera with atkilt wot, azifa, fasolia, and kik alicha piled on top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mine’s hot, remember.” Crowley warned, handing it over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale didn’t recognize the dish right off, but put some of the rich red stew on his injera and took a bite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was spicy, that was true, but not horribly so-- he imagined Crowley would be disappointed, if not for the other flavor that had so distracted him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t taste anything like cleaning chemicals.” Aziraphale reported, before summoning some milk to banish the uncomfortable tingling on his tongue. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ah, afterburn. He had forgotten that was a thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. Yours doesn’t seem to have it.” Crowley said, but passed the plate back just the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like more of mine? If it tastes better?” Aziraphale offered, tilting the takeout container of fasolia in Crowley’s direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shook his head, his jaw set mulishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I want the spice. Wonder what it is, though…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t comment further on the odd taste, and finished a goodly amount of his food before declaring himself full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale got the leftovers packaged into Crowley’s usually barren refrigerator, and had just settled himself down to let Crowley crawl back into his lap, when Crowley shot straight up, flailed frantically to free himself from the blankets, and made a bee line for the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alarmed, Aziraphale waited, then when he heard the sounds of Crowley being sick, he moved to follow him, rapping on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley?” he asked, trying not to sound nearly so worried as he felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t get ill, as a rule, and yet… perhaps this was Heaven’s next weapon against them. He didn’t think he’d seen pestilence around of late, but if there were any powers that might harm an angel or demon, he would bet it was them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something in the food.” Crowley said, voice strained, between bouts of vomiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me look into it.” Aziraphale offered, then retreated, feeling terrible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad enough that Crowley had to deal with the cold and his old injuries, but now this besides? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale located Crowley’s mobile and pulled up the order information, then set about searching up each of the names of dishes, and one thing became very obvious very fast: the spice that Crowley had so craved came from something called berbere seasoning. It was the one thing every dish had in common. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so Aziraphale looked further into it, and almost laughed with relief when he realized-- not all mixtures had it, but he would bet his signet ring that this one did: rue, also known as witchbane-- and Herb of Grace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was, for years, used as the brush by which holy water was administered for blessings, and there were strains of the plant that had been watered with holy water to make it suitable for the purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that Crowley ingesting holy water, however diffused it might be, was funny at all, nor was him being sick, but rather-- at least it was a reasonable explanation, and didn’t suggest that they were being targeted again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went to report his findings to Crowley, but stopped off on the way to start some water boiling for ginger tea. He had a feeling Crowley was going to want rather a lot of it, very soon.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. What's a Whumpee Got to do to Get Some Sleep Around Here?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale was not in the habit of sleeping. Which was a large part of what had made waking up during Heaven and Hell’s meddling so alarming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But increasingly often, he was finding himself waking up, after not having intended to fall asleep-- and no sign of any exterior force causing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got a new shipment of books in-- a lot he’d bought sight unseen from a collector’s estate after her passing. Upon opening the first box and removing a few books, he’d been overwhelmed with the intense joy of it--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--and then found himself waking, sprawled on the floor, surrounded by the books and his head pillowed on a couple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groggily, he shook himself and went about assessing and appraising them, brow furrowing with confusion at what had sent him into his unplanned nap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was only the first of many. They were short little things-- he knew, because he would start an audio book, begin doing some dusting, the book would get to a good moment, and then he would lose track of time, wake, and find himself laid out somewhere, confused, and not more than twenty minutes later in the recording. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it happened in the kitchen, Aziraphale had been looking forward to his tea, and had woken with a bump on his head and a broken cup and tea on the floor and shards of porcelain in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been… rather traumatic. And had caused him to blip right back to sleep for another few minutes, apparently until his body decided he was up to dealing with the mess around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found himself waking feeling frustrated, more exhausted, and incredibly stressed, and increasingly resolved not to let it happen again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it was excitement, he would do his best to make sure his life was as dull as possible. And so he made himself a schedule, and stuck to it: a dull breakfast of toast with butter-- not even any jam, lest he look forward to it too much. His tea would have only one cube of sugar, and just a splash of milk-- nothing too sweet, nor too rich. Just the bare minimum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so when Crowley came in, unannounced, he found Aziraphale in this new schedule-- holding himself straight backed on an all wooden chair, the cushion removed and sat next to it, eating a single piece of toast, the crusts still on like some sort of barbarian, his lackluster tea growing cold at his elbow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thinking about joining another monastery?” Crowley asked, one brow arching above the frames of his glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous.” Aziraphale snapped. “It’s been… oh, a very long time since I have needed to be a monk.” He couldn’t hide the testiness in his voice, nor did he try. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley raised his hands, trying to prove his innocence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he protested. “Just that you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself very much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed and sat down the paltry plank of bread. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am trying very hard not to enjoy myself.” He confessed. “I find myself taking… unplanned naps, whenever I enjoy myself too much, and it’s become rather alarming in the last few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley cocked his head and looked at him consideringly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you considered… maybe taking a planned nap?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, take a break, give yourself a little rest. We have been through some shit, Aziraphale, and in case you’ve forgotten, you do inhabit an actual body, which has the occasional need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you think if I were to rest, perhaps even for a long period of time, it would stop all of these short rests?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worth a try, innit? And I’m not saying sleep for a month or more, just give yourself a solid nine hours of unconsciousness. It’s really pleasant, when you’re looking for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Aziraphale responded. “I suppose it may be worth the try. Let me just close shop, and then you can show me how.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley blinked.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Seems like you’ve managed plenty of it lately on your own,” he pointed out, and Aziraphale shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Short naps, unintentional. I need to know how to will myself to sleep, and, once achieved, how to maintain it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um.” Crowley responded intelligently. “I guess the first step is to get comfortable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nodded. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Then I will meet you upstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obediently, Crowley headed for the stairs, and Aziraphale took care of the closing rituals, locking the door and the cashbox, flipping the sign, lowering the blinds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He climbed up to the private level and looked for any sign of the demon, before opening the door and finding him already laying on his back on Aziraphale’s bed, on the side usually piled high with books. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of a sudden, Aziraphale doubted he would have any trouble falling asleep; he was excited just seeing Crowley like this, in his space, looking for all the world like he belonged there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shucked his shoes and socks, his coat, bracers, and tie, and crawled onto the bed to lay beside Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you just… close your eyes.” Crowley began. “Take some deep breaths-- make an effort to breathe, you know, but don’t focus on it too hard. Let it be natural. And you just let your body sink against the mattress, stop tensing any muscles at all, just… turn yourself into a puddle on the bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale didn’t think he was really listening; it was relaxing enough just listening to Crowley voice. And slowly, slowly, he drifted off...</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. You're Not Making Any Sense</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Aziraphale woke, he thought it must be the middle of the night, and Crowley had turned all the lights off. Then, he thought that there must be a blanket over his head-- because he couldn’t even make out the streetlamp outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The he shot up with a shout, because he realized that though his eyes were wide open, he saw nothing but the darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale?” He heard Crowley’s sleep fuzzy voice coming from the vicinity of his own right elbow, he thought. “Nightmare?” He asked softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A waking one.” Aziraphale managed, gasping the words out in his panic. “I can’t see!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel Crowley sitting up beside him and turned to face him, able to feel his eyes open wide, for all the difference it made. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt the air being dusturbed in front of his face and jerked back, before realizing Crowley must have been waving his hand around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t.” Aziraphale said, plaintive. “I thought I was going to be hit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s intake of breath was almost a hiss-- Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he’d ever noticed that happening before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry-- I didn’t mean to. Ah… alright, let’s try and figure this out. Can you-- can you just… heal your eyes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale blinked, used to doing so while startled, though it seemed like a lacklustre response at the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I… I haven’t tried yet.” He admitted sheepishly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley didn’t respond, and a moment later, he swore softly under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry-- I, uh, waved my hand around, and you couldn’t see it. What I meant to say was, ah, go for it?” Crowley explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale smirked, able to imagine all too well the hand motion in question, and impatient circling of his wrist that was less ‘give it a go’ and more ‘get on with it’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Healing, one moment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes, raised his hand towards heaven and plucked a bit of grace for himself, much as Eve had picked the apple. He tucked the power behind it directly into his eyes, and willed them to be better, to be whole, to be… fixed, for lack of better word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his eyes again, and drew in a sharp breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” Crowley asked, leaning in, and Aziraphale squinted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shadows.” He reported. “I can see shadows now. I can see--” He put his hand out and roughly traced the outline of where Crowley was, accidentally hitting him in what was probably his forehead at one point, because his depth perception had gone to shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Okay…” Crowley was sounding more panicked now. “So, you can’t heal it-- healing just… improved your vision a bit, right? Which suggests maybe it isn’t gone so much as… as veiled? Have you pissed off any witches lately?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you think of many witches whose curses would be capable of withstanding a miracle?” Aziraphale returned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come to think of it, haven’t even run into a proper witch in at least several decades.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Aziraphale said. “Come on-- help me get downstairs, so that we can start going through my books in search of an answer.” He put his hand out towards Crowley, and was surprised to be able to hear him swallow before he took his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Aziraphale-- you can’t read like this, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shook his head.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, you’ll have to do the reading for the both of us.  But I should be able to tell you where to look; I know this book shop like the back of my hand.” He lifted their linked hands to demonstrate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley cleared his throat uncomfortably.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Do you think we could look online instead? It’s just… my eyes. Reading small print on paper isn’t… easy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale felt his mouth drop open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You-- you never mentioned before. Is that why you never look at menus?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I look them up on my phone. You c’n make the text plenty big that way, change the display colors and the like. Makes it easier.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale thought for a moment. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Alright. I don’t think I’ll be quite so useful in your online research, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let go of Crowley’s hand to let him use it in his typing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright. Do-- do you want me to make you some tea, for while I work on that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale beamed, positively tickled by his consideration. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That would be lovely dear. Oh, but, perhaps put it into one of the to-go mugs, above the sink? I’ll be less likely to spill that way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got it angel. Back in a tick.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale felt the bed shift, then listened to Crowley’s foot falls as they retreated. He could track him all the way to the bottom of the stairs, then it was silent til he hit the loose floorboard, and then nothing again until the sounds of the tap turning on and cupboards being opened, muffled by the distance and the floor in between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But while Aziraphale waited, he sensed something else-- something that made his back go ramrod straight and made him nearly quake in a bizarre combination of fear and ecstasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s there?” He demanded, turning his face towards the brilliant light that was cutting through the shadows of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Aziraphale, you are so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stubborn</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Came the voice of God-- a voice he’d not heard in ages, and yet one that could never be mistaken for anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Below him, he heard something dropped, something shatter, and Crowley cursing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” He said, “You’re hurting him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t-- I won’t ask for my sight back, if that’s what you’re after.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, stubborn. This was supposed to bring you closer, and all you could think to do was use Google.” She sighed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Tell him I said hi, and it’s your turn to help him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In another brilliant flash, She was gone, and when Aziraphale blinked away the lights dancing in his eyes, he could see again. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But the last bit, about Crowley needing his help, meant he had little time to marvel over his renewed sense of sight. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He sprung to his feet and out the door, only hoping he wasn’t already too late.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley had thought being in heaven was bad. He’d thought the Metatron trying to force grace into his demonic spirit had hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being in the presence of God, even a presence a floor away and not directed straight at him, had knocked him to his hand and knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Aziraphale come in, and managed to turn his head towards him-- but when he did, the whole room swam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha--” He asked, then winced; his hearing had gone muffled, but now it was a sharp, piercing, resounding shriek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was aware that something had broken nearby, and he thought he might have hit his head on the counter, in the process of ending up on the floor, but who was to say? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he knew now was that the world was spinning, and his ears were ringing, and he wasn’t sure which way was up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale knelt beside him, and put a grounding hand on Crowley’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s gone now.” He said, speaking gently, and Crowley reached out, held onto him, and rolled his way onto the angel’s lap. Half of him dangled off, ungainly and uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. Aziraphale was his rock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was she-- your eyes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was Her, yes. She seemed… disappointed that we turned to Google, instead of directly to one another.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley made a rude noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t need to turn to one another; we were always right there.” He answered. His head was pounding and he shut his eyes to shut out the way the ceiling spun. It didn’t help, though. If anything, having his eyes closed made him feel sea sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened them back up and focused on Aziraphale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see again now.” Aziraphale said quietly. “And she told me it was my turn to help you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stupid branding. Bet this is so bad cos of the hole in me.” Crowley turned his face to the side to hide it in Aziraphale’s soft stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smooth white fabric of his shirt was blessedly still, and Crowley breathed in deeply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s hand moved up, and began to stroke his hair, the movements rhythmic and soothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there anything I can do for you?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley hummed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing it.” He mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to go back to bed?” Aziraphale asked, some time later, and Crowley hadn’t realized how time was moving in starts and stops until then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nuh. Here’s good.” He answered. The words sounded like mush in his mouth, but Aziraphale seemed to understand. He went quiet and stroked his hair for several more minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I were to carry you?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” He felt petulant, but he doubted he could keep his feet right now, if he could find them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale began the process of rolling him and adjusting his grip, and a few minutes later-- or seconds, maybe; it was hard to say-- Crowley found himself being lifted into the air, then cradled against Aziraphale’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, it turned out, undid all of the steadying he’d been doing, and he whimpered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, shh, just a few steps up, then you’ll be comfy and cozy in bed, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley whined again when they began going up the stairs, and clung to Aziraphale for some semblance of balance and steadiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt when Aziraphale sat him down on the bed, and squeezed both his fistful of shirt and his eyes tighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, sounding so warm and fond and amused that it made Crowley’s heart leap and his eyes slide open, though he knew how much of a mistake that was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slammed them back shut, thinking it had been worth it for the momentary glance at Aziraphale’s face, so soft and full of care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, if you don’t let go of me, I can’t join you in bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Crowley released Aziraphale’s shirt, and a few breaths later, Aziraphale was beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rest now, dear boy. Things will be just fine, I promise you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was so glad to hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t argue, and didn’t even try to fight the urge to sleep. He let it rush up to meet him, much as the floor had done, and welcomed it with the same open arms that Aziraphale received him with when he turned on his side and rolled into the angel’s embrace. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. If you thought the head trauma was bad...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley drifted more than anything, not really falling asleep-- mostly out of fear of the God based dreams that may well chase him there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he just lay, trying not to focus on his discomfort and failing miserably, while trying to focus on the nearness and warmth and scent of Aziraphale, and basking in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That didn’t help much, though, when the numbness he’d been feeling faded, and instead he began to feel the pounding ache of a headache. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried healing it, an unthinking reaction, but even the action of moving hurt his head, and the attempt at using his power caused a wave of agony, chased by a second wave of nausea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moaned pitifully and rolled onto his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it your nap’s not helped much?” Aziraphale asked, thoroughly concerned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t nap-- m’brain hurts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you can’t heal it either, I suppose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tried. Hurts worse.” Crowley draped his arm over his eyes to block out some of the light that was hitting his eyelids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t even get this kind of hangover from being in Heaven.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might now, though, what with the brands in place. But I don’t think She intended to hurt you-- that is, she sent greetings and said we were meant to get closer, rather than googling…” Aziraphale trailed off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you-- that is, you can say no of course, but… perhaps She meant I was to heal you? She said it was my turn to help you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think if you try to help right now, my corporation’s brain might explode. No offense.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I certainly don’t want that.” Aziraphale said softly. He placed a cool, soft hand on Crowley’s forehead, and Crowley leaned into it. “You’re warm, Crowley. Would you like a wet cloth, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hnnnghn.” Crowley answered, unsure whether that would help or hurt more. He felt the bed move as Aziraphale got up, and made a pitiful little noise at the loss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t help you if I don’t move around a bit.” Aziraphale told him, and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could. You could just stay here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard the tap start, then stop, and the sound of a cloth being wringed out. Then he felt it being laid across his brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. In the interest of getting closer, I won’t leave unless you ask me to, from here on out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled, and tugged the cloth lower, to cover his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s more like it.” He said. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Okay, who had natural disasters on their 2020 bingo card?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley and Aziraphale emerged from the bed about three days later, Crowley’s heaven hangover suitably decreased enough that he was looking forward to spending some time in the sun outdoors, and Aziraphale’s near-saintlike-patience quite ready to spend at least a little quality time in a proper restaurant, rather than filling his previously book laden side tables with takeaway cartons and the remains of quickly fried cheese toasties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world they emerged into, however, was very different than the one they had retreated from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the hell’d all this bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>snow</span>
  </em>
  <span> come from?” Crowley demanded, lifting his feet and shaking them the moment he stepped past the awning over the shop’s front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sky, I should imagine.” Aziraphale answered distractedly as he locked up, but then he turned around. “Oh. I say, there’s rather a lot of it, isn’t there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Bentley was nearly up to her roof in it, and Crowley groaned in dismay. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ugh, that’s terrible for her paint. Hang on, we’ll soon get you out of that.” He addressed the last to the car itself and went about braving the cold to scrape the snow away with his hands-- no doubt turned hotter than usual with a little demonic miracle, judging by how the drifts turned to water and ran away at his touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale watched, amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You couldn’t use a similar trick on your icy toes?” He asked, remembering the shock of them against his nice warm calves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And rob myself of angel heat?” Crowley shot back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the Bentley was nicely defrosted and running at a purr, Crowley stomped the snow down enough to allow Aziraphale to get in. But then they encountered the difficulty of the banks that the snow plow had left-- a veritable wall of snow behind the car that was nearly so tall as she was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley patted the dash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing a little hellfire won’t fix, never you mind.” He assured her, while Aziraphale blanched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley! Don’t even joke.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley lifted one eyebrow above his sunglasses’s rims, and deadpanned, “I never joke.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before reversing through the drift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all but exploded onto the street behind it, and miraculously there were no cars about to hit them. Or perhaps it wasn’t a miracle; everyone else was simply smarter than to try and brave the weather unnecessarily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like the bloody ice ages all over again.” Crowley griped, keeping a careful grip on the wheel and maintaining, for once, an almost reasonable speed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the roads were icy, and they had better things to be doing than spending the day miracling themselves and the car back into one piece. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear,” Aziraphale fretted, “I do hope the restaurants and shops are open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley made a rude noise with his tongue, quite the feat with it being forked at the tip as it currently was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They had best be, if they know what’s good for them.” He threatened lowly, and Aziraphale laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You vicious thing, you’re in quite the mood today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>ssunlight</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Crowley hissed, his sibilant gone serpentine in his petulance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My poor cold blooded demon.” Aziraphale mocked softly. “Perhaps a tanning salon will take you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked so incredibly offended at the suggestion that Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was another block or two of driving before the mirth bled out into confusion, and then concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I say, Crowley,” Aziraphale began, his voice gone strange with tension. “Have you… actually seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen the same things you have.” Crowley said, “So no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were always people about on the highstreets, and even the roads looked a little ill-kempt, as if they’d been plowed, salted, then left to fend for themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think-- I mean, God was here…” Aziraphale couldn’t get the words out around his dawning horror at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not another flood.” Crowley said firmly. “Can’t you feel them? They’re around, tucked up in their homes. Staying safe, staying warm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale reached out-- he’d been afraid to before, he realized. But Crowley was right. Humanity was there, all around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps we ought to consider doing a bit of the same. Maybe they know something we don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley agreed, and turned around. They were nearly back to the shop when the first gust hit, sending snow pelting the car like tiny bullets, and sending her rocking as the force of it broadsided her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy!” Crowley exclaimed, holding tighter to the wheel. “That’s gonna be a pain to be out in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, it turned out, was an understatement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They got themselves parked, and Crowley miracled up a car coat to help protect the Bentley’s paint from the punishing weather conditions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had noticed it was cold when they’d gone out originally, but he was only realizing now </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> cold exactly-- no wonder the humans were inside. He would bet they’d spent the last few days clearing the shelves at asda, too, stocking up on supplies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had known about this, and he had missed it because he normally got his news from Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they got back indoors, they were shivering, immortal occult/angelic beings and all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll just put on some tea then, shall I?” Aziraphale asked brightly, pulling a quick miracle out to help make sure his old walls could withstand the gusts outside. The windows were moaning, but they were warm, and safe, and more than capable of waiting it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you put a nip of brandy in mine?” Crowley asked, miracling his clothing dry so that he would pose no threat to the books. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just for that, Aziraphale made it a double.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Such Wow. Many Normal.  Very Oops.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The cause of the freezing, humans determined, was either merely ‘nature’ or ‘the growing climate crisis’ depending on whether the person speaking believed in that sort of thing. Either way, everyone could agree that it was unusual to unheard of, and no one much appreciated it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had eased off a bit, though-- still frozen, so the snow and ice was sticking around, but the wind had died off and the snow was no longer coming down in buckets, for which they were all very grateful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Bentley remained where she’d been parked since that first attempted afternoon out, and the plowed mountain behind her only grew ever higher and ever thicker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much like their American cousins from years prior, local heads of council had to remind their followers not to jump out of upper floor windows and into the snow, for fear of cars lurking underneath, and injuries that could and would result from such foolishness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t fully stop it from happening, but it might have deterred an idiot or two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale was particularly interested in jumping out of windows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were, however, interested in having a bit of a walk, as it had warmed up enough to allow for it again, and they were feeling a little cooped up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so they packed their cocoa and coffee into a couple of thermoses-- carefully color coordinated in black and lightest blue tartan, so as to never be confused with The Thermos, of which they did not speak-- and headed to the park for a bit of time in the watery grey sun of London in winter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The streets were clear enough to walk on safely and carefully, but the path round the lake was only worn down by others’ feet, and the snow had been trampled enough to have turned to mud, then frozen back to ice in places, making their usual habit of walking and talking more dangerous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had decided, after God’s admonition about getting closer, to try and keep their time apart to a minimum. This suited them both quite well, considering the trials and tribulations they’d faced of late, and it was delightful to finally have an excuse to be around one another that neither side could really argue with. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>After all, not being near Aziraphale when God arrived had put Crowley out of commission for days, and if he had been close, She may not have come at all. Thwarting at its finest, on both sides of the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so, if they held hands to help steady one another, there wasn’t anything Heaven nor Hell could do about it, short of shaking their heads with disgust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss the ducks.” Crowley said suddenly, interrupting the silence that had descended as their last conversational topic had waned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “You always treat them quite poorly; I thought you disliked them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not!” Crowley protested. “I play with them. Same as how they play with one another, innit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale held his thoughts on the matter. He did glance out across the lake, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wonder how firmly frozen it is. Do you suppose they will be able to ice skate on it, after a storm like that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley tilted his head and looked out over the ice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least a couple of ‘em are gonna give it a go. Look.” He nodded off near the high reeds, where the ducks liked to put their eggs come spring, and where a few children appeared to be slipping off their shoes, with plans of skating over the ice in their stockings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heavens.” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps we ought to do something to stop them.” He began heading in that direction, a little too far off to be heard if he yelled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit too late for that, Angel!” He heard as Crowley raced past him, realizing as he did that he’d pressed his mobile into Aziraphale’s hands. He looked up to see a child take off from the edge straight towards the middle of the pond-- and promptly fall through the ice and into the waters below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bugger.” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was fast, faster than the other children, even, and he shouted for them to stay as he slid on his stomach towards the hole in the ice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphael fumbled with the phone for a spare moment, then got a call in to emergency services. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hello, yes, I am in St. james’ park, just north of the playground on the birdcage side of the lake-- a child has fallen through the ice and my partner has gone in after them. No, no, I can’t see-- they’ve surfaced. Please send help, I’m going to give you to a child now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale handed the phone off to the young girl who was standing by, mouth agape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help them find us, please.” He told her, a touch of miracle in his voice to give her the courage she needed to do the job, and then he turned to the lake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley?” He called to the man who was clutching at the ice with inhumanly sharp talons that had sprouted from his fingers while he held a boy between his chest and the rim of the hole. “What can I do to help?” Aziraphale asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had lost his glasses, and his eyes were wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t come out on the ice- it’s not gonna hold.” Even as he spoke, his fingers on one hand went crashing through the surface, sending them both bobbing as the boy cried out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tail!” Aziraphale shouted, hoping Crowley had enough presence of mind to handle the change. He had always been a better swimmer while serpentine, and perhaps, that done--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw the moment that Crowley gained the advantage and they became a little steadier in the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now then-- if you have to, put him on your back, and break the ice away between you and the shore until you can climb out safely!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale felt next to useless, but he supposed at least one of them had a mind that was not freezing or panicking, and thus was able to assist that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hear that?” He heard Crowley mumbling comfortingly to the boy. “I’m going to give you a piggy ride now. You hold on tightly, understand? And I’ll soon have us out of here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale watched, fretting terribly as Crowley helped the boy to climb around on the other side of him, and then began the process of smashing through the ice with his claws. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale turned around and saw the fire brigade approaching, an ambulance in tow, and turned back to warn Crowley to hide his transformations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Rescuers are here-- it won’t be long now!” He tried to make it sound hopeful and not as though he was playing supernatural lookout. It seemed to work, though, as the first of them reached him and clapped a hand on his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the caller?” She asked, and Aziraphale nodded, pointing as he accepted Crowley’s phone back from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re nearly to the edge,” He added helpfully, though there was a dark and obvious trail of broken ice that marked how far they’d come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got them.” She promised, and waved for backup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small army of men and women ran down to the river’s edge to lift the boy off of Crowley’s back as he final grabbed hold of solid land, and Aziraphale managed to shoulder his way through them to reach down and grasp Crowley’s hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are, you brave, stupid fool.” He said, pulling him up and onto land and into his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was shaking with cold, and he had already partially soaked through Aziraphale’s clothing when the team brought them emergency blankets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on now, let’s get you out of your clothes and warming up.” One of the men instructed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale turned to be sure the boy was receiving the same sort of care; he was already in someone’s thermals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Crowley agreed, surprising Aziraphale. He was looking straight at the angel, though, not at the humans who were trying to shuffle him off to the trucks for treatment. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Stay with me?” He asked, almost a plea, and Aziraphale knew it was only partially to help him fend off discovery. The other part was God and the unspoken threat of having saved a human life-- and what Hell might do to him for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Let me help him-- he’s ah, special needs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” The officials were quick to agree, with the tiniest nudge from Aziraphale. “The parents are on their way, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you and we’ll need to take down statements for our reports after.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Aziraphale said again. “If you can just fetch us some dry clothing for him--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sent them scurrying, and turned back to Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall we get out of here before they come back, my dear? Make a run for it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley, still shivering as if his bones intended to shake out of his skin, grinned back at Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Best idea you’ve had all day, Angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They booked it, making it out of sight before Aziraphale dried Crowley with a miracle and warmed him with another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walk home was almost anticlimactic, after all that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohh… I dropped the thermoses!” Aziraphale lamented, and Crowley huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall we stop by that little teashop up near Piccadilly?” He offered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, let’s. I suppose you could do with something warm to drink anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t object. And then home, to a fire and several blankets.” Crowley insisted. He paused, then added, “Thank you, by the way. I saw the boy and didn’t think-- I ought to keep you around, have you keep doing that for me, when needed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale bumped their shoulders together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be hard pressed to get rid of me, you’ll find, if you keep pulling stunts like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their usual routine resumed, they made their way towards the tea shop, and home, and left the humans to wonder why they had run, why the boy was swearing the man who’d saved him was a mermaid, and how the hell someone had happened to miraculously be in the right place at the right time to stop childish stupidity from turning tragic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was, all in all, a rather successful outing.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. I think I need a doctor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There were many benefits of being immortal and immune to disease, aging, and the sorts of bodily decline that flesh was heir to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That did not apply if you were, say, hit by a car on the way across the street to fetch a pastry, and knocked unconscious, and rushed to the emergency room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale came to looking up at a white ceiling full of whiter lights, surrounded by bright stark white walls and curtains, and the smell of antiseptic, and for a moment he thought he was in Heaven, again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He panicked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was before he noticed the plastic tubing in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart rate spiked, and the monitors he was wired to becan their shrill calls, sending two nurses scurrying in to speak with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Fell, it’s alright. There’s been a little accident, but you’re going to be okay.” The first assured him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could not speak but he did his best to still, and wrinkled his brow in the hopes of communicating his ongoing confusion at the circumstances that led him to this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached up and touched the tube coming out of his mouth, gently so as not to upset it, but intentionally so as to make his question known. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to leave that in just a bit longer.” The second nurse told him, looking apologetic. “You took some damage I’m afraid, and one of your lungs had collapsed by the time you got here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale greatly doubted it was still collapsed, but he couldn’t say as much. He simply and obediently moved his hands away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Fell, we know who you are from your shop, but I’m afraid you have no medical file that we could find. Do you use a different name, or perhaps have a family member we could contact to get your information from?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The business of records was always a problem-- Aziraphale was such rubbish at tracking when one alias was meant to be dead of old age and the next needed to take over and, being as he was usually safe from all but the most severe of harm, he had no need to go to the doctors or a hospital. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he wasn’t sure what to do about that-- he couldn’t suddenly miracle records into existence, if he didn’t know what was meant to be inside of them. As for a family member…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if Crowley would know any better than he would, and knew that foisting the problem off onto him would not be a kindness, but at the same time, no doubt he was wondering what had come of Aziraphale, and, given recent happenings, had probably whipped himself into a frenzy of concern some time ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale raised a finger, and the first nurse came closer, offering him a pen and pad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azirpahale wrote down “Call Anthony Crowley- tell him where I am.” And scrawled Crowley’s mobile number beneath it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That done, he made a point of collapsing back against his pillows, feigning exhaustion. It seemed to work; the nurses looked sympathetic, and the second nurse tucked him in, checking to make sure everything seemed as comfortable as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You rest, we’ll take care of letting him know.” He lifted a small grey box, also attached to a wire, but this one running to the bed. “If you need anything, just go ahead and press this button-- it’ll send us an alert, and one of us will come to help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nodded at him, making his eyes smile even if his mouth was thoroughly hindered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a nice man.” The first nurse said, after they left the room, her voice still audible in the hall. “I can’t believe some of the yelp reviews for his store.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never know,” the second nurse followed up. “People are different when they’ve been injured. It’s humbling, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed and leaned back, resting his eyes while he waited for Crowley to show up and spring him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long; as expected the demon was beside himself with worry, so when he burst through the door, paying little heed to the nurse trailing behind him trying to ask questions like, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you happen to know his full name, next of kin-- what’s your relation to the patient--?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he focused in on the sight Aziraphale made, laying on his back, intubated, hands laced together quite calmly and resting on his stomach, listening to some panel show or other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, angel, you’ve only gone and done it this time, haven’t you?” He asked. He gestured upwards and the nurse stopped with his questioning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll just… leave the two of you be, shall I?” He said, and quickly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With another quick demonic miracle, the tube was laying on the table by Aziraphale’s side. He worked his jaw, delighted to be free of the damned thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Crowley, hello.” He smiled up at him peevishly. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Apparently </span>
  </em>
  <span>I was hit by a car!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well there’s no need to sound so bloody delighted about it, had I known you would enjoy it so much I’d have offered years ago!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale pouted. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m not delighted, per say, it’s just that it’s such a new experience, and one that’s… admittedly the tube was quite awful, but… you can only imagine my relief when I woke up to this and discovered it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>heaven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That seemed to knock all the bluster from Crowley’s sails. He looked around.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Knew I hated hospital for a reason.” He mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid it gets worse, too-- they know I’m ‘Mr. Fell’, but I’ve no records or proof of existence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“File taxes, don’t you?” Crowley asked sharply, and Aziraphale laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s nothing to do with being counted as a real person, and you know it. So. How do we get out of here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think… malpractice.” Crowley said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “A case of mistaken identity, perhaps.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a quick miracle or five, Crowley was back out the door, this time dragging Aziraphale with him, leaving screaming machinery in his wake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who admitted him?” Crowley demanded, in full drama and fury mode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was brought in by ambulance.” The woman nurse from earlier said, standing up to him quite handily despite her shorter stature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s been some mistake.” Aziraphale said simply, and she stared at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your lung was collapsed! There was internal damage-- how--?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’ve the wrong man.” He said apologetically. “You called me Mister Fell, if I recall?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right, Mr. Fell of Fell and Co books!” Her voice had gone up a bit in shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here’s his wallet right here.” Crowley said, holding out what was definitely Crowley’s wallet, but contained a brand new fake identification card with Aziraphale’s face and some new name on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Herman</span>
  </em>
  <span>, be that as it may, it does not change the fact that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw</span>
  </em>
  <span> you with blood coming out of your mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well he hasn’t any now. And he might have said as much, if you hadn’t needlessly put aquarium bits down his throat!” Crowley hadn’t dropped the act of angry partner, and Aziraphale knew it was his time to step in and play good cop-- or angel, as the case may be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, dear, they were only trying to help. But as you can see, I am fine, and really, it seems your treatment was most unnecessary. Is there anything we can do to just… sweep this whole affair under the rug? I understand things are hectic, but I don’t want a bill, and I’m sure you don’t want some sort of court proceedings, so…” He smiled benignly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The poor woman looked shaken, and finally sighed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Just go. Not much I can do if we don’t know who you are, is there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gave her a winning smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, dear. You have a lovely day now!” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He gave her a little blessing-- her feet wouldn’t ache after long shifts anymore, and she would be off bedpan duties for the foreseeable future. It was the least he could do in exchange for all the trouble they’d caused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you after that got you hit like that anyway?” Crowley asked mildly as they got into the Bentley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh-- my pastry! It must have been hit as well!” The thought was upsetting to Aziraphale, and Crowley heaved a sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still in the mood for pastry, or would you rather something else?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale thought about it. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Perhaps a curry. Not takeaway, though, I want to sit down somewhere and soak in the atmosphere.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And the spice would help to burn away all of the antiseptic scent that clung to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded and took the next right. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Remind me to show you how to put emergency contacts in your phone, in case it happens again.” He said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… I think that’s back at the shop.” Aziraphale mumbled, feeling quite sheepish. Crowley handed the mobile in question to him, and Aziraphale pocketed it a little shame facedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dishoom, then?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale brightened right back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, let’s!”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Now where did that come from?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley did not often take on his serpentine form. He felt… somewhat demeaned by it, but also somewhat more distant from the humans that he so loved, any time he had to do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That said, there were some simple pleasures that a set of scales and unregulated body temperatures had a unique level of enjoyment of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Notably, large, flat, smooth hot stones were at the top of the list, and now that the snows from that less-than-mild winter snap had gone and the sun was finally taking its annual week long holiday to England, Crowley found himself with easy access to a fair few of them, in a fairly secluded area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was tempted, and, as he’d been in the form of a snake during the first temptation, it seemed only right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say angel,” He drawled lazily, from his position sprawled across the entire out of doors sofa on the porch of the little cabin they’d rented. “Would you mind terribly if I… you know, slipped out of my skin for a bit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked up from the book in his lap and cocked his head to the side a bit, in the way that always reminded Crowley of a confused bird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not, dear. Please-- feel free to make yourself comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled at that and all but slithered off the couch and onto his feet, closing the distance to the closest appealing rock before he dropped down on the ground, and changed, crawling a little way out of his clothing before he registered the pain and stopped, body going rigid at the shock of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was wrong-- horribly wrong. His taut muscles shook, and he felt his coils beginning to roll out from under him, followed by involuntary muscle spasms that came out as thrashing-- which only sent even more pain shooting through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt it before he saw Aziraphale’s hands, tugging at the clothes, and his gentle voice above his head:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You silly thing, have you gotten yourself tangled up in there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mirth died off of his face, though, the moment he found Crowley’s head, mouth frozen partially open in a soundless scream of hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley! What is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took hold of him and pulled him free of the clothing. This sent a new sort of pain running riot through Crowley-- heat, somehow, was so much worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling, you’re absolutely frigid! What-- should I put you on the rock?” He looked like he was panicking, and the expression on his face gave Crowley the tiny bit of clarity of mind to give himself the ability to make human sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Don’t.” He all but begged. “Something’s wrong-- it’s like I’ve been burned.” He was panting, his tiny serpentine lungs heaving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should just turn back… ah but it hurts, if I bollocks this up--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see if we can’t solve the problem, rather than running from it, hmm? Here-- let me get you back to the couch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale carried him gently back onto the porch and laid him out with the most delicate, gentle hands. Hands that had restored untold numbers of classic books, rescued crumbling pages from ancient bindings and resurrected the words of long dead poets and artists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those same fingers now ran over him with the utmost care as Aziraphale peered at every tiny scale on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Aziraphale sat back.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Crowley,” He began, sounding a touch put upon. “I wonder-- have you taken this form anytime since you rescued that child in the park last winter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley let out a low hiss. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Why would I? It wass </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Very </span>
  </em>
  <span>cold.” Aziraphale agreed. “I believe your tail is a bit frostbitten. I assume from your time in the lake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley frowned, in as much as he could, without any actual lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. Didn’t notice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed again.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I can feel my wings itch even when I don’t have them out. Don’t you have that kind of attachment to this form?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley did a snakey little shrug, and suffered for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One mo--” He had had enough of that, and now that he was calmer, and had a reasonable explanation for his pain, he could fix it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A miracle or two later, his scales were again intact, the muscles below less sore, and then he was human shaped again, albeit significantly less clothed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was, as he’d noted before, fairly secluded. And Aziraphale hardly minded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If anything, it might’ve registered as an ache. But again, in the cold, I’ve always got that.” He was capable of shrugging better now, and did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got to say though, it has ruined the idea of laying out on rocks, a bit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nonsense!” Aziraphale scolded. “You mustn’t let that discourage you from the form, when you take it so rarely. I’d encourage you to enjoy it when you can-- like it or no, it is a part of you, after all, and the better you know it, the less likely you are to suddenly discover some hidden injury months down the line.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Crowley hummed, seeing the point but refusing to concede it. “Maybe later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did get up though, and saunter across the yard to retrieve his clothing. He cast a longing look down at the rock again, then shifted his eyes back up to the angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the meantime, can I tempt you to some tea and sticky buns?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as the concerned furrow between Aziraphale’s eyes eased up, and his face broke out into another sunny smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have you know, I see what you’re doing, using your wiles as a distraction. And I am quite immune to it.” Aziraphale waved his finger mock chidingly. “I am only giving in to this temptation of yours as a favor to your ego.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say, angel.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Today's Special: Torture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You know,” Crowley heard, as he slowly woke. “Every hunter worth their salt has a tracking device they keep on their person. And his led me straight to you. So tell me the truth: where is Mathias?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley groaned and opened his eyes to find himself in a mostly dark room, tied to a chair, plastic spread out on the floor around him, and floodlights hitting him right in the eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a woman standing in front of him, arms crossed and looking both unimpressed and threatening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean-- I ate him.” Crowley answered, feeling a mite groggy, like he may have been drugged. The pounding in his skull backed up that theory. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, a jokester. Funny. Mathias is my brother, so I hope for your sake he’s around here somewhere.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mathias sent a child after me by lying to her about the source of her ma’s illness, and then he attacked when I turned up to help them, so I turned into a snake and ate him.” Crowley told her. “I’m not joking, and I’m awful sorry for your loss, though he was a bit of a prick.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman looked less than pleased with that answer, and paced back and forth a bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wanna talk me through what you’re thinking, or would you rather wear a hole in that tarp?” He finally asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, your eyes say demon, so that makes your story a little more plausible. I don’t want to believe my brother’s dead, because if I come home without him, my father will be furious.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley listened, nodding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So I suppose,” she continued, “My options are to take you back to my father and let you tell him your story, and hope I get let off the hook while he kills you slowly, a little bit at a time, </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I do it myself, here and now, save myself the trouble of the roadtrip with you, and know I’ll probably kill you off faster than he would, so it’s really sort of a favor, on account of how you’re right, and my brother was a prick.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like either way is pretty shit, as far as options go on my end.” Crowley quipped, and she huffed a little laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shame about you eating him,” she responded. “I feel like we really coulda grown to like one another.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley swam in and out of consciousness for the next several hours, as this incredibly disturbed human woman made a game of removing bits of him and putting them in labelled mason jars. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It really was like some kind of parody of a decor show, the way she tied little ribbons around each one, and labelled them with what they were and the time when she removed them from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had no idea where they were or how they’d got there, but she’d done a damn good job of making sure she wouldn’t be interrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d yelled and cried and screamed as loud as he could, but it seemed like there were no neighbors around to hear, or care, or help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he had no idea where Aziraphale was. He wished he could call to him, though, reach him, ask for some kind of way out of here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So it occurs to me,” Amber said, for that was her name, and Crowley hated that she’d bothered telling him about her, because he sympathized now, a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t had much opportunity to learn about demons, and how they react to things. For example:” She held up a bottle of salt. “I can make a circle with this, and you can’t leave it, yeah? But what happens if I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She upended the bottle over his chest, slashed open and bleeding sluggishly as it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He screamed again as the salt began to dissolve in his blood and sting at the open skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She watched, dispassionately, and when he voice broke and his screams turned to little whimpers, she hummed to herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d say that was about on par with a human, actually.” She noted. “Which is a real pity, I expected more… fireworks, or the like.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley twisted his wrist back and forth, trying again to work his hand free, but she laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fingers were broken; she’d done that first thing, so even if he could get free, the act of summoning a miracle would be even more painful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about the old folklore fixes, eh? Silver? Iron? Garlic?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Werewolves, fairies, and vampires. Not me.” He answered her, voice rough from screaming and ruining his attempt at sounding cool. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And how about holy water? Does that do anything?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He croaked out a little laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tingles a bit. Demons use it as hot sauce.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had loosened the duck tape around his wrist enough to be able to move his hand a bit, and he smashed it against the chair, forcing his broken bones back into some semblance of being hand shaped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Hot sauce, you say?” She asked, and he didn’t like that at all. He wiggled his fingers, braced himself, and summoned a miracle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I should go get you some, then. After all, you are being punished for having eaten my brother-- maybe keeping your mouth on a constant holy water drip will make the punishment fit the crime a little better.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley sucked in air, in too much pain to try and figure out how to talk his way out of that one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did I hear,” A new voice said in the darkness, and Crowley felt his eyes filling with tears of relief, “That you are in the market for some holy water?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stepped forward, looking prim and proper as ever, and he’d even pulled out his halo and wings for the occasion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amber looked up at him in awe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an angel aren’t you?” She asked, and Aziraphale smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am. And it seems you’ve captured my own personal adversary.” He flicked his eyes towards Crowley, and Crowley whined at the cold expression in them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, Aziraphale was pissed. And worse, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>righteous</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, did you want to get in on this? It turns out he ate my brother, so…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Were you aware,” Aziraphale asked, voice still light and sweet and casual, “That your brother had made a deal with devils? That your brother kidnapped me, and sold me to hell?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amber took a step back as Aziraphale turned to look at her again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? No, I mean, Mathias was an arse, but…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your brother.” Aziraphale said, advancing on her, “Was a monster. And so are you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley could not actually see what happened, but he did see that Aziraphale did not so much as lift a finger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amber screamed and fell to her knees, her eyes bleeding, her mouth wide open and her tongue suddenly missing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, darling, I think you had better close your eyes.” Aziraphale warned him, and, when he’d obeyed, he could see the bright holy light that suddenly shone throughout the room even through his closed eyelids. It stabbed into him and set his head off again, and he whimpered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as fast as it began, it ended, and then Aziraphale was there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, here we are, I am so sorry. Come on, let’s get you out of here, get you healed up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What-- what did you do with her?” Crowley asked. “She was just-- her and Mathias both, their dad…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know.” Aziraphale told him. “I sent her body back to her father, covered in writing that tells the entire story of their awful line. No further children will be born to them. The old man will see his daughter, read my letter, and then never see again. And whatever monster he is running from will finally be able to catch up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s voice echoed with a sort of certainty, a knowledge beyond what they knew, and Crowley realized he was tapping into the weapons available to angels in the most extreme of circumstances. The sorts of weapons he’d have been given back in the beginning, back when it was a very real war, and he’d been set out to kill demons like Crowley. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, now, he was using those powers in defense of a demon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think heaven’s gonna like this too much.” Crowley told him, head lolling as they moved, and suddenly Crowley realized he was being carried. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t give two fucks what heaven does and doesn’t like!” Aziraphale said hotly, but sounding more like himself. “I won’t let anyone take you from me again!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled at that, even though, as they crossed out of the darkness and into the sunlight, his headache flared up, and all the moving was jostling the salt in his chest wounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was woozy and in and out of it, and Aziraphale got him laid out on the grass by a roadside, the day crisp and bright and lovely, and Crowley felt cold and vague. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That crazy bint killed me, didn’t she?” He asked, and Aziraphale’s eyes flashed, brighter even than the noonday sun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not if I’ve anything to say about it.” He answered. “I am so very sorry,” He added, softer and sweet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sighed, trying not to tense even though he knew what was coming next. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or, he thought he knew. Aziraphale had done some laying of hands on him before, once or twice, and it was terrible for them both each time. They both suffered when they went about helping one another that intimately. So he tried to prepare for more pain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he felt instead, though, was Aziraphale’s hand on the side of his face, and then his lips on his, and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissing him back to life.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And somehow, it didn’t hurt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was like being dunked suddenly into a cold pool, a shock to the system, unpleasant, but bracing. He felt alert again, like he’d just woken, and he felt the pain in his chest going away, the throbbing in his fingers ceasing as everything straightened out and reknitted itself, pieces regrowing and reattaching and </span>
  <em>
    <span>healing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Aziraphale was kissing him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he was done, Crowley chased after his retreating lips, panting and confused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That didn’t-- it didn’t hurt me at all. Did it-- are you alright?” He demanded, sitting up and reaching for Aziraphale to catch him in case he fainted from the efforts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Aziraphale just smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When God said she wanted us to be closer,” He said, sounding, finally like himself, “I suspect this is more what she had in mind.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You mean I could have been kissing you since winter?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale laughed and helped Crowley to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we weren’t so scared, I would say we could have been kissing for much longer than that. But, yes. I don’t think we’ll have any problems with healing one another any longer.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley felt tears coming to his eyes again, and he grabbed hold of Aziraphale and held onto him tightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go find somewhere that’s quiet.” He requested. “Somewhere out of the city. You bring your books, I’ll bring my plants… and with any luck neither of us will have to heal the other ever again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale said on a sigh, “That sounds delightful. How do you feel about the south downs?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’re there?” Crowley told him, as he reached to pull him into another kiss. “Better than heaven could ever be.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>